Everything and Nothing
by TheElsianPrincess
Summary: Clary and Jace meet one drunken night and it's hatred at first sight. But when their parents force them together in holy matrimony, can they put aside the fire and stand as one? And when the true reasons for their rushed marriage arise, can they face something darker than either of them could have imagined? The fate of their country is in their hands...
1. The Shot Heard Round the World

_**It's back, ladies and gentlemen! Back by popular demand! New look, same great taste! Dare I say, a better taste? I think so.**_

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_**Soundtrack for this Chapter: **_

_**It's Time, by Imagine Dragons (Apartment Scene)**_

_**Life is a Highway, Rascal Flatts (Apartment Scene)**_

_**Scary Monsters and Nice Sprites, Skrillex (Club Scene)**_

_**Black Widow, Iggy Azalea (Club Scene)**_

* * *

Clary sighed in mild aggravation as her phone rang for the fourth time, ripping her already divided attention from her suitcase and her sketches. She let go of the suitcase zipper and took the pencil from her mouth, tossing the drawing utensil on her nightstand and picking the phone up. "Yes, Mom?" she answered irritably.

"Just wanted to check to see how you were doing," chirped the falsely bright voice at the other end of the phone. "Have you left yet?"

Clary rolled her eyes and picked her pencil back up, twirling it between her fingers as she padded across her bedroom to her desk. "Not since the last time you called…half an hour ago."

"Sorry," Jocelyn Fray said, her voice completely unapologetic. "I'm a concerned mother. What's taking you so long?"

Clary dropped the pencil into its case and managed to zip the case up with one hand. "I can't shut my suitcase…and anyway, Sebastian isn't here yet. He had to do something at school or something, so he's running a bit late…" She dropped the case into her bright green backpack and, with her phone tucked between her ear and her shoulder, pulled the drawstrings of the bag together. "Hey, Mom?"

"Yes?"

"Don't wait up, okay? I think Seb wants to do something for my birthday."

There was a pause at the other end of the line that put Clary on edge. Her mom didn't like it when she went out with Sebastian, especially not when she was supposed to be coming home. In fact, she didn't think her mom liked Sebastian at all. When Clary had first told her mother that she and Sebastian had started dating, six years ago, Jocelyn had pursed her lips and asked her 'why.' Her stepfather, Luke, had looked nervous, like he'd wanted to say something…but was afraid to.

It was not the reaction she'd been expecting. She'd expected her mom to be happy for her, and she'd certainly expected a different reaction from Luke. Luke was always her number one fan, her biggest supporter. He always took her side, unless it was about something dangerous. His decline of support for her in her relationship with Sebastian had made her incredibly upset.

Eventually, though, her parents had simply accepted that Sebastian was going to be around for a while, and they'd stopped pestering her about him. They never invited him over though—it was always Clary who had to ask if she could bring him around the house, for a meal or a board game or something. And when he was over, Jocelyn rarely spoke to him, and Clary could tell the friendliness Luke offered was only surface level.

Every time she asked her parents why they didn't like Sebastian, she was always met with a 'It's not that we don't like him, Clary…It's just that we don't think he's right for you.'

"Mom," Clary prompted.

"What?"

"Did you hear me?"

A sigh. "Yes, Clary, I heard you. I'd really rather you didn't. It's dangerous in the city, late at night. I don't want you two walking around alone."

Clary ran her hand through her unruly red curls and let herself fall back on her bed, between her suitcase and her backpack. Her ceiling was peppered with glow in the dark star stickers that she'd managed to peel from her ceiling back home and bring with her to college. She let her eyes wander from star to star as she talked, twirling the drawstring of her backpack around her finger. "Mom, we're taking a cab. We aren't going to be doing any walking. And besides, Seb is perfectly capable of taking care of both himself and me. We'll be fine."

Clary heard the front door to the apartment slam. Something—a few things—dropped to the ground and a female voice spat out a long string of colorful, unladylike words.

"I know, Clary, but I—"

"I gotta go, Mom. Izzy's here. I'll call you when I leave."

Ignoring her mother's protests, Clary punched the bright red 'End Call' button and shoved the sleek phone into the back pocket of her jeans. She heaved herself back off her bed and ventured into the eclectically decorated living room of the apartment she shared with dark-haired beauty Isabelle Lightwood and vivacious Maia Roberts. "Iz?" she called out.

She was met with another string of curses, as the taller girl tried to pick up the various shopping bags she'd dropped in the entryway back up off the floor. Her jet-black hair was pulled back into a messy ponytail that somehow looked like something out of a magazine, and her large, white sunglasses were slowly falling of their perch on her nose.

Clary laughed a little bit and rushed to help her friend pick the shopping bags off the floor. "I think you need a lesson in conservation," she said, slinging a pink Victoria's Secret bag and a papery, black Brandy Melville bag over her elbow. "You may have the money to shop all you want, but you don't have enough arms to carry the bags. It's either that, or become an octopus."

Isabelle straightened up and grinned at her, shaking the hair out of her eyes and pushing her sunglasses to the top of her head. "That's why I need a boyfriend," she said. "So he can carry my bags for me."

Clary laughed again and started walking toward Isabelle's bedroom, which adjoined hers with a Jack and Jill style bathroom. The other girl's bedroom was hot pink and covered in glitter, with piles of makeup and clothes everywhere you tried to step. "That's not a boyfriend," she commented, picking her way around a large pile of old foundation Isabelle had probably meant to throw out three weeks ago. "That's a personal assistant."

"Isn't that what boyfriends are?" Isabelle asked, glancing at herself in the mirror that rested against her armoire.

"Speaking of," Isabelle added, as she and Clary dumped the bags on the dark haired girl's disaster of a bed. "Where's yours? Wasn't he supposed to be here, like, half an hour ago?"

Clary pushed an escaped curl out of her eyes and straightened her sweatshirt. "He got held up by something at school. He'll be here in about ten minutes…which is why I need your help."

Isabelle looked from her shopping bags to her friend, raising an eyebrow. "I'm glad you asked. Jeans and a sweatshirt is not the outfit you want to greet the love of your life in."

Clary rolled her eyes. "Not with my _outfit, _I meant with my _suitcase_."

"Oh," Isabelle said, following Clary to her room. "Well, your outfit needs help, too. I can hear the cries of your jeans, begging me to pair them with something a little more tasteful…like a chiffon blouse or something."

"See?" Clary said, pointing at the suitcase, which was about to burst. "I need help shutting it."

Isabelle cut a glance at Clary and walked up to the suitcase, leaned on top of it, and had it zipped shut in under fifteen seconds. "You're too short," she commented, stepping back from the bed. "It's all about leverage. Maybe if you'd put it on a chair or something—"

The girls were interrupted by a loud knock at the front door.

Isabelle made a noise of aggravation, throwing her hands up in the air. "Dammit. I was going to make you at least put on some mascara and lip gloss. You look like a boy in that getup."

Clary ignored her roommate and bounced to the entryway, pulling the door open for her boyfriend of six years, Sebastian Verlac.

She grinned when she saw him. He stood tall, his raven hair combed carefully to the side, his equally black eyes dark and wide, drinking the sight of her in. One arm was held behind his back, the other shoved in the pocket of his jeans. His navy blue button up shirt was slightly wrinkled, likely because he didn't know how to iron his own clothing. His smile matched hers, and when he brought his hand out from behind his back, he held a bouquet of bright yellow sunflowers. "Happy Birthday," he said softly.

Clary took the flowers happily and stood on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. "Thank you!"

He held his hand out to her. "You ready to go?"

* * *

Clary pulled Isabelle's dress down farther, fingering nervously at the lace hem, wondering how Isabelle managed to walk around dressed like this all the time without wanting to grab a blanket and wrap it around herself like a cocoon. Her ears were ringing as incredibly loud music poured from the enormous speakers of the club into her brain, and her heart beat in wild rhythm. She could feel sweat dripping down her cheeks, down her back, and she could feel Sebastian's sweat, too. She, oddly, was not disgusted by it.

They danced against each other, an odd looking couple, moving gracelessly to the music and pressing too close. Clary lived for moments like these—moments when she could immerse herself in something physical, something stress-free. She didn't have to think about moving to the music—her body did it for her. She didn't have to work to listen to the beat. All she had to do was drink in the sights and the sounds and the smells. All she had to do was smile in delight as the club lights flashed yellow, blue, pink, and green. All she had to do was hum low in her throat to the nearly unintelligible words emanating from the speakers. All she had to do was press up against her boyfriend and she felt safe and secure and very nearly carefree.

Sebastian slid his hands down Clary's arms and she shivered.

"Don't worry about your dress!" he practically shouted into her ear. "You look great!"

Clary rolled her eyes but let go of the hem of her dress. She'd worn it for him, after all. Most of the things she wore, she wore for him. To appease him. To please him. To…excite him. Maybe, finally, she'd get lucky and he'd man up enough to have—

"I'm going to go get us some drinks okay?" Sebastian yelled, pulling Clary out of her thoughts. "I'll be right back!"

Clary nodded and waved him away.

She needed to use the restroom anyway.

Clary wobbled on her tall heels, pushing through the thick, tangled mess of bodies that jumped up and down to the music in tandem toward the back of the club. For someone so small in stature, she prided herself on knowing how to move through a crowd. New York was in her blood…and her elbows. Elbows were a handy thing when it came to pushing through a mess of people.

Once she escaped the pack of dancers, she sucked in a lungful of relatively fresh air. The smell of cigarette smoke and alcohol and sweat pervaded her nostrils, but she welcomed it, as she welcomed the cool draft of early fall air that swept into the building from a door that was propped open in the back. Near the door, she saw a dimly lit sign that read 'Restrooms', and sighed in relief.

Just before she entered the restroom, she turned to make sure Sebastian wasn't wondering where she was. He wasn't. He'd just made it to the bar and was waiting his turn to speak to the bartender. If she hurried, she could make it right back to where they were and he wouldn't even notice she'd left.

She pushed open the door to the girls' restroom—

And froze in surprise.

None of the stalls were occupied. None of them.

But the sink was.

A boy and a girl—no, a man and a woman—were pressed tightly against each other, the woman seated on the sink, her long, manicured fingers wrapped tightly in the man's curling, blond hair. Her legs wrapped around his waist, her already short skirt hitched up passed her upper thighs, and her neck was arched back. The man was…well, he was…

Clary made a noise of disgust, but as the door slammed shut behind her, she found she couldn't move. She was rooted to the spot, whether by her own shocked brain, or by something else she didn't know. All she knew was that she was mortified, disgusted, and wanted nothing more than to leave.

The couple froze and turned to look at her, neither of them moving from their positions, though the woman turned bright red.

"Do you mind, little girl?" the man said, his golden eyes locked lazily on Clary.

She spluttered and suddenly figured out how to move her feet, backing away toward the door. "Do_ I_ mind?!" Her voice was almost unidentifiable to her own ears, shrill and high pitched. "Do _you _mind? How the hell am I supposed to go to the bathroom when you and…and…_faerie _girl over here are going at it like rabbits on the sink? Do you realize this is a _public _bathroom?"

The woman made a noise that sounded too much like a growl to Clary and pushed the man away from her, revealing way more skin than Clary would have liked to see. "That's the last time, Jace," the woman said, straightening out her skirt and stomping toward the door. "Your damn little escapades always turn into exhibitionist shows. Next time you have sex with a girl, have the decency to at least rent a hotel room, if you won't invite her back to your place. Or use a _stall _instead of the damn _sink!_"

The woman stormed out, slamming the door behind her, and Clary reflexively looked at Jace, who hadn't bothered to fix his pants. She clapped her hands over her eyes and made a noise of frustration.

"I think I need to wash my brain out…" Clary said, peeking out from behind her fingers as Jace began to wash his hands. "Can you make yourself decent, please, so I can use the restroom?"

"I'm always decent," Jace said calmly, though Clary could detect a note of anger in his voice.

What right did _he _have to be angry? He was the one having sex in the girls' bathroom! If he'd picked the men's room and a guy had walked in on them, the guy probably wouldn't have thought twice. "Is your…Is it…" Clary stuttered. "Are your pants zipped up?"

"I don't see how it matters anymore," Jace said. "Your eyes can't 'burn' any more than they already have." There was a loud zipping noise. "This is incredibly uncomfortable," he remarked, his words beginning to sound slurred. "You interrupted a very important part of my life, and now I'm stuck like this."

Clary dropped her hands from her eyes and glared daggers at Jace. "Maybe if you'd gone home, there wouldn't be anyone to interrupt you."

Jace leaned back against the sink and folded his arms against his grey t-shirt, leveling his gaze at her. "And maybe if you'd just ignored us and done your business, we wouldn't be having this conversation. As it is, you have deprived me of the only enjoyable thing about this whole damn day, and now you're arguing with me."

Clary shook her head. "Can you just get out so I can go to the bathroom?"

Jace seemed to ponder the idea for a moment. "No. I don't think I will. You didn't give me privacy, so I don't think I'm going to give you privacy. My jeans are making me uncomfortable, so I'll offer you the same sense of discomfort. I'll stay here while you use the restroom, little girl."

Clary frowned. "My name is not 'little girl.'"

Jace raised his eyebrows, raking his eyes up and down her body in a way that sent a shiver down her spine and made her, yet again, want to grab a blanket and wrap it around her body. "Well, you're little…in more ways than one, I might add…and you're a girl, though you're not a very pretty girl. So I say my name still stands."

With a huff of anger, Clary spun on her heel and marched out of the bathroom. The club was getting more and more crowded the later it got, and Clary had to push past several couples and even more mobs of dancers to get to her boyfriend, who was standing at the bar with a more than worried expression. He turned to her in surprise, holding one completely empty glass in one hand, and a half full glass of beer in the other hand.

"Clary!" he exclaimed, as she took the glass from his hand and drained the beer from it. "Where did you go? What happened?"

Clary slammed the glass back down on the bar harder than she intended, but she didn't care. If it broke, at this point, she'd probably take one of the shards of glass and try to shove it down the Golden Asshole's pants. Then she'd see how much pain he was in.

"Clary?"

She looked up at Sebastian. "Can we go home?" she asked. "I know it's still kind of early, but…I want to go home."

Sebastian wrapped his hands around Clary's shoulders and turned her gently to face him. "Are you okay?"

"Just some asshole in the bathroom," she muttered, looking away from Sebastian. "There were these two idiots having sex in the bathroom, and the guy…well, let's just say he was more than a little upset with me for interrupting."

Before Clary could protest, Sebastian's hands had slipped from her shoulders and he was halfway to the bathroom. Clary called after him and began to push through the crowd, her heart pounding in her chest and the music pounding in her ears.

When Clary made it to the dimly lit hallway, Jace had just exited the girls' bathroom, now wearing a leather jacket and typing something into his cellphone with a furrowed brow, his oddly golden eyes more alert than they had been when she'd been conversing—or, fighting, rather—with him.

It took Sebastian less than a second to figure out that he was the 'asshole' who had sex in the girls' bathroom, and only five more seconds to knock the cellphone out of Jace's hands.

Clary caught up to Sebastian in time to hear him say "Are you the asshole keeping other people from using a public facility because you can't keep it in your pants?"

Jace looked from his broken cellphone to Sebastian, his eyes heavy with laziness once again. Clary wondered, briefly, at his ability to change his facial expressions so quickly and so smoothly.

"Let me guess," Jace drawled, dragging his eyes from Sebastian's angry, hulking form to Clary's more timid one and back to Sebastian again. "You're Pippi Longstocking's girlfriend?" Jace coughed. "Excuse me…boyfriend?"

Sebastian's arm twitched and that's all it took for Clary to duck. His fist swung out and connected with Jace's jaw inhumanly fast, sending Jace reeling back into the wall.

Clary watched with wide eyes as Jace regained his balance, looking a little dazed, but…was he _laughing_?

"Come on," Jace said, opening his arms out wide. "Is that all you've got? A little tap to the chin? I probably won't even bruise."

_He's wrong about that,_ Clary observed silently, watching the already darkening area on his jaw bone.

If Jace's intent was to get Sebastian to swing again, it worked. Sebastian swung, but Jace was faster. He blocked Sebastian's punch by grabbing the other boy's wrist and wrenching it around his back. Sebastian cried out in pain and swung his other fist toward Jace's eye, but Jace caught that one too, yanking it back to join its counterpart.

Clary couldn't take it anymore. "Stop!" she yelled, careful not to get in between them. "Just stop!"

Jace didn't take his eyes off Sebastian, but he let go of the boy's wrists. Sebastian stood up straight, wincing and rubbing at his wrists, glaring angrily at Jace.

Jace fixed his eyes on Clary, and she swore she felt her blood freeze in her veins. "Next time you have an issue with me," Jace said in a low voice, "Stand up for yourself. Don't hide behind your pathetic excuse for a boyfriend, like a bitch."

He spat on the ground, picked up his broken cellphone, and disappeared into the alleyway beyond the open door.

* * *

_**Yeah. That's where I'm ending the chapter. Dang, Jace! Harsh!**_

_**So! What do you think?**_

_**New readers, does this interest you?**_

_**And to those of you who have already read twenty something chapters of this story, back when part of it was already published, do you like this better? Did you like the other version better? Or do you like them equally? Sound off in the reviews!**_

_**Love You All! Until Next Monday ;)**_


	2. The Start of the Revolution

_**To Clarify: The reason this is a rewrite is because I'm an impulsive little poophead. Yes, I could just repost the original. There was nothing wrong with the original. Actually, I can't just repost it, or I would. I kind of deleted it off my laptop, so there's that. I'm rewriting it though! And I'm going to do my absolute darndest to update every week!**_

_**By the way, the chapter soundtracks, as of so far, have nothing to do with the scenes themselves. I'm trying to find a tune and a beat that fits the vibe of the scene. So, right now, don't listen to the words. I'll let you know when the words have something to do with the scene :) Enjoy!**_

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_**Chapter Soundtrack:**_

_**Underdog, Imagine Dragons (Waking Up in the Morning Scene)**_

_**Break Free, Ariana Grande (Coffee Shop)**_

_**Hit Em Up Style, Low Key [BOCA 2011] (End Scene)**_

* * *

Clary groaned in irritation as she finally registered the midmorning sunlight pushing through her blinds and poking at her eyelids, insisting she wake up and start the uneventful day ahead of her. She flipped over onto her stomach, away from the window, and burrowed beneath her comforter, trying to ignore the fact that she suddenly felt hot. The heat from the blanket and the window began to coax the sweat from her pores, and with another groan of frustration, she kicked the blankets off and stumbled grumpily out of bed and into the hallway outside of her room.

"Morning, Clare!"

Clary squinted tiredly at her step-father, Luke. He held a mug of coffee in his hands and was dressed and ready for the day, smiling as always. She grunted an unintelligible, grumpy 'Good morning', but when he opened his arms for a hug, she shuffled to him willingly. He chuckled and pulled her into a tight side hug, kissing the top of her hair affectionately.

"Still not a morning person?"

Clary made another tired noise and waved him away, shuffling to the stairs and laying her head on the banister, trying to see how far down the railing her upper body could slide before her feet were forced to follow or fall. Luke walked slowly down the steps beside her.

"Do I have to appear in public today?" Clary asked, her voice hoarse.

Luke laughed again. "Only for a little bit. Some old friends of mine are coming over for dinner tonight. I haven't seen them in a very long time, and we figured tonight was as good as any to catch up."

Clary stopped sliding down the stairs to squint at her stepfather again. "Can I just…hide in the bathtub and eat macaroni and cheese?"

Luke smiled and took her arm, peeling her off the banister and walking her down the rest of the stairs. "They have a son who's about your age. If you stay in the bathroom all night, he'll be bored."

Clary made a face. "It's not my choice to host people in this house. I shouldn't have to entertain them."

"Well, your mother and I are asking you, politely, to do so."

Clary threw her arm over her face, shielding her eyes from the bright sunlight pouring in through the large, bay windows near the back of the house. "And what if I just…disappear?"

"Then we'll all go out and find you together, and find some way of embarrassing you," Jocelyn said, appearing in the doorway of the kitchen, wiping a cereal bowl clean.

Clary wrinkled her nose at her mother. "Morning to you, too, Mom."

Jocelyn smiled warmly. "Good morning, honey. You have a visitor."

Clary frowned at her mom. It couldn't be Sebastian. Sebastian was already in New Jersey, at his parents' house. He'd stayed at her house long enough to make sure all her bags were in her room and she was safe inside, before he'd driven the rest of the way to Bridgewater. She walked into the kitchen, and standing there at the counter, picking all the seeds out of an orange, was her childhood best friend.

The rest of Clary's brain and body snapped awake instantaneously. "Simon!" she squealed, running and throwing herself at him. "Oh my gosh, Simon!"

Simon laughed and wrapped his arms around her, hugging her tightly. "Hey to you too, Clary. It's been awhile, hasn't it?"

Clary laughed and pulled back to look up at him. "Yeah, _last Christmas_. I saw you last Christmas."

Simon smiled and threw one arm around her shoulders, leaning on her and using his free hand to continue picking at his orange. "Good thing you decided to finish school over the summer. Don't know what I would've done if I'd've had to wait another…four months to see you."

Clary reached over and stole one of his orange slices. "Don't get too excited," she remarked around a mouthful of fruit. Her hand flew to her mouth as a little bit of orange juice escaped her lips. She swallowed. "My graduation ceremony isn't until the spring. Technically, I'm taking a 'gap year.' Between the end of my senior year and my graduation."

"Now that your little reunion's over," Jocelyn said, walking back into the kitchen with the clean cereal bowl. "Could you two run around the corner and grab some bao buns and coffee?"

Clary furrowed her brow, watching her mother put the cereal bowl back in the cupboard. "Didn't you already have breakfast?"

"Second breakfast," Simon said, pulling his sneakers back on, "is just as important as first breakfast."

"Was that a Lord of the Rings reference?"

"Yes. Yes it was."

* * *

_Bao and Beans _was an odd little shop just a couple blocks away from Clary's Brooklyn townhouse that, true to its name, sold bao buns and coffee. A perfect combination for a perfect morning, in Clary's opinion.

Simon pushed the shop door open, grinning at his friend. "Whoever came up with this idea was a genius," he said. "Bao buns and coffee. Not really from the same country, but hey. Who cares? The taste is all that matters."

Clary smiled and walked into the shop.

It was one of the smallest buildings on the block. There were only two tables with two chairs each, a tiny little loveseat, and then the rest of the shop was taken up by the counter and the kitchen behind it. The walls had been splashed with bright red, and pinwheel like white flowers, with stars in the middle of their petals, stood out in contrast to the red.

"Well, isn't _this _a surprise."

Clary froze.

"If it isn't Maggie and the…not so ferocious Beast."

Clary turned, and sure enough, sprawled out on the couch, was the blond guy from the bar the night before. James, or something.

No, not James.

Jace.

He sat up and studied her, his golden eyes darting quickly from her to Simon, who had begun to order at the counter, and back to her again. "You know, you have many flaws, but I didn't peg you as a cheater."

Clary glared at him. "I'm not cheating. Simon is my—"

"Pet rat?"

"—best friend."

"Ah. Sad, lonely little girl. With only a pet rat to call her best friend."

Clary's hands curled into fists. "My name is _not _'little girl.'"

Jace shrugged, leaning back against the couch. "My argument still stands. You're little, and you're a girl. Ergo, you are a little girl."

Clary returned his shrug, trying to come off as relaxed. Unfortunately, her hands wouldn't uncurl themselves. "Fine. I guess I'll start calling you Zeus."

Jace's lips tugged up into a smirk. "Why? Because I'm stunningly—or should I say, _electrifyingly_—attractive?"

Clary glared at him. "No. Because you've probably inseminated over half of New York."

Jace's smirk didn't disappear, but it grew more sour than it had been before Clary's statement. He leaned forward again, resting his elbows on his knees, opening his mouth to retort, but it was Simon who spoke next, having returned from the counter with a white paper bag and a drink carrier holding four coffees.

"Who inseminated half of New York?" he asked, handing Clary the drink carrier.

"No one important," Clary said irritably, turning away from Jace and dragging a slightly bewildered Simon behind her as she walked toward the door.

And Jace laughed.

That asshole _actually laughed._

Her shoulders tensing in anger, she whirled around, grabbed one of the coffee cups from the carrier and hurled its contents all over Jace, drenching him in steaming hot coffee.

Jace yelped in surprise and pain and jumped off the couch, wiping his face and his pristine white shirt, now drenched in coffee, wincing as his fingers brushed the bright purple bruise on his jawline. He grit his teeth and glared at Clary, and for a moment, she was frozen where she stood. The fire and the hatred in his eyes was enough to terrify her…but she wasn't going to let him know that.

"That was for calling me a bitch last night, you _asshole._" She pivoted on her heel and marched out the door of the shop.

"Who was that?" Simon asked, jogging to catch up with his friend after she blew past him.

"No one important," Clary repeated. She grabbed one of the coffee cups without looking and began to drink it. Immediately after she swallowed, she made a face and looked at the cup. "What is this?"

Simon shot her a look of annoyance and took the cup from her. "That one's _mine_."

"Well, which one's mine?"

"The one the color of your soul," Simon said, pointing to a cup that had _Black _scribbled on the side of it.

Clary twisted it out of the cup carrier and took a sip. "My soul is not black," she muttered. She could feel the heat of the coffee spreading through her chest and her stomach, and it calmed her nerves. Maybe she'd overreacted to Jace. Maybe he'd just been trying to tease her and she'd taken it too far.

She made a mental note not to appear in public in the morning until she had coffee in her hands.

Simon shrugged. "You're the one who said it first. When we were 16, remember? We were at Java Jones, watching Eric read his god-awful poetry, and you asked for your coffee 'Black. Like my soul.'"

Clary took another sip and smiled a little bit, hitting the button for the crosswalk with her elbow. "You know what _I _remember about that night?"

Simon paled a little bit. "I know _exactly _what you remember about that night, and under no circumstances should that part of that night ever be discussed. Ever."

Clary smirked. "For future reference," she said, turning around the block so she could see her townhouse. "Don't ever confess your undying love for a girl in a _coffee shop._"

Simon glared at her. "Did you not just hear what I said? Do you have coffee in your ears?"

"Just because you tell me not to discuss it doesn't mean I'm going to listen to you." She grinned at him, pushing her drink back into the carrier and fishing in the back pocket of her jeans for her house keys. "Come on, Si, it was six years ago. That's over half a decade! We tried to date, it didn't work, and we both moved on." She pushed open the door of her house. "Why can't we laugh at it?"

Simon rolled his eyes and shut the door behind him, trailing after her as they ascended the steps to the part of the building where Clary and her parents resided. The other half of the building—the bottom house—was inhabited by a woman who called herself 'Madame Dorothea' and sold palm readings from her front parlor.

"My way of laughing at it is me pretending it never happened. So…let's just pretend it never happened." He stepped inside the house and shut the door behind him, ignoring Clary's amused grin.

Clary and Simon walked into the kitchen and set the bag and drink carrier on the granite countertop, where Luke and Jocelyn had been playing a game of Scrabble. Clary rolled her eyes. "You guys still have that tradition going on?"

Jocelyn smiled and placed one of her wooden letter blocks in its square triumphantly before looking up at her daughter. "Of course. Just because you leave the house doesn't mean our lives are suddenly dull and uneventful."

Luke sighed and scribbled something down on the score sheet, pursing his lips and looking at his letters with a dismal expression. "On the contrary…" he said, picking up an A and an E and placing them strategically on the board. "Our lives are much more eventful with you gone."

Clary rolled her eyes. "Guess that means you don't need bao buns. Bao buns are only for those of us with pitifully boring, horrifyingly expensive lives. They spice it up a little."

Simon smiled and leaned over Clary to take his own bun out of the white paper bag. "Does this mean you and I each get two?"

"No," Jocelyn interjected, plucking the second bao bun out of her daughter's hand right as she was about to bite into it. "Because if you do, you won't get any baked macaroni and cheese tonight."

Clary nearly dropped her bun on the counter. "You're making mac and cheese for dinner?"

Jocelyn smiled serenely and took a sip of coffee. She made a face and looked at the cup. "Why are there only three cups?"

Clary flushed. "Um…Some idiot at the café wasn't watching where he was going…ran right into me…I spilled your coffee all over him. You can have mine," she said, sliding her cup towards her mother.

Jocelyn shook her head and pushed it back to her daughter. "I don't need it. I'll just make a few cups later tonight, for dessert or something."

"What's the occasion, might I ask?" Clary asked, narrowing her eyes at her mother. Jocelyn rarely ever put as much time as it took to bake that macaroni and cheese into any other dinner, unless people were coming over.

Luke slid his own food across the counter so he could stand next to Jocelyn. "Just some old college friends," he said nonchalantly, inspecting the pork in his bao bun. "Remember? I told you about it this morning. You may not remember," he added, in response to Clary's blank look. "I don't think you were fully conscious...Nobody to really get fancied up for. But you came home, and since we're having guests, your mother and I thought it would be a nice occasion to cook one of your favorite meals."

Clary shrugged and took a drink of coffee. "Can Simon stay over for dinner?"

Jocelyn and Luke froze and looked at each other, but before they could reply to Clary, Simon interjected.

"Um, actually," he said, nudging Clary with his elbow. "My mom wants me home. Rebecca's coming home from studying abroad on Monday, and she wants me to help her clean the house. And give Yossarian a bath…" He wrinkled his nose in distaste.

Clary didn't hear him though. She was too busy watching her mother, who had gone a couple shades paler than she usually was. Clary frowned and an awkward silence ensued.

Luke took a deep breath and cleared the Scrabble board. "Who's up for another round of Scrabble?"

Clary frowned in the mirror at the dress her mother had practically forced her to wear. She didn't understand why she had to dress up so nicely, if they were just college friends of her mother and stepfather's. It probably meant that they were friends with her biological father, however. Which also meant that there was a possibility they were rich and snobby.

And there was a possibility that this dinner wasn't a casual visit, but the catalyst in a business transaction.

* * *

Clary blew a stray curl out of her eyes. The emerald green, A-line dress was made of silk and chiffon, and it hugged her practically nonexistent curves, making her look even bonier than usual. Her pale limbs were dotted with freckles, as were her cheekbones. She bit her lip and managed to twist her hair up into a more becoming knot, letting a few curls hang loose around her face.

She'd just slipped the soft green slippers on her feet when her mother called from downstairs.

"Honey, our guests have arrived!"

With a roll of her eyes and no care for decorum, Clary trudged down the stairs, pulling self-consciously at the hem line of her dress. It was annoyingly short, and Clary doubted that anyone was in the mood to see the Care Bears dotting her threadbare old panties.

She really needed to do her laundry.

Clary heard her parents open the front door, and the usual exclamations and greetings that accompanied a dinner party ensued. Four voices. All adult. She sighed and walked toward the entryway of the house.

"I was just telling my daughter how long it's been since we've seen you," Jocelyn said, walking into the living room where Clary was standing.

A beautiful blond woman practically waltzed into the room, her smile wide and bright. "Oh, I know. I was just telling my son the same thing."

Clary raised her eyebrows. A son?

Luke stepped into the living room, trailing two people behind him—men, by the looks of it, but Clary couldn't see their faces.

Luke smiled at Clary. "Ah, Clarissa! May I introduce the Herondales?" He gestured to the woman. "This is Celine." He gestured to the man standing directly behind him. "This is Stephen…"

Stephen and Luke stepped aside to reveal the third Herondale.

Clary's blood turned to ice in her veins, her eyes widening in surprise.

"And this is Jace."

_Purple bruise and all, _Clary thought. The ice in her veins turned to fire, boiling and coursing through her body. Her chest felt like it had lit aflame.

Clary's expression was mirrored in Jace's golden eyes.

He smiled brightly. "It's nice to meet you," he said smoothly, but she could see the contempt flickering in his irises.

Clary returned his smile, hers sweet with a sickening poison. "I can't say the same for you, asshole."

* * *

_**Mwahaha. **_

_**That was a fun chapter.**_

_**REMEMBER TO LEAVE A REVIEW! **_


	3. Minutemen Ready

_**You all have every single right to be furious at me right now. I admit, I completely forgot about this story until I republished the first chapter of Forbidden, and I kid you not, I gasped out loud and screamed and pretty much just collapsed on the floor.**_

_**To those of you I've lost on this story: I'm so sorry. I hope you can forgive me.**_

_**To those of you who have stuck around and supported me through all the crap I've put you through: Bless you all. If I could, I'd give you all the awards ever, but I have $3 to my name right now, soooo…**_

_**Without further ado!(Also, 46 reviews for 2 chapters?! Damn, guys!)**_

* * *

**_Chapter Song_**

**_Bad Guy by 3OH3_**

* * *

Clary stabbed angrily at her plate of macaroni and cheese, highly aware of Jace's consistent glare at her from across the table. She'd lost her appetite as soon as she'd seen him, and it seemed as though he wasn't very hungry either. Neither of them was exactly thrilled to be in each other's presence, but it didn't seem like either of them really had a choice.

Their parents were conversing quietly with each other next to them, trying their hardest to ignore their sulking children, but Jace and Clary's bad mood hung over the little dinner party like a cloud. One more wisp of a word, Clary thought, and the cloud would burst.

"Clary, honey, aren't you going to eat anything?" Jocelyn asked, abandoning her conversation for a moment to notice that her daughter wasn't eating her absolute favorite meal.

"I'm not hungry," Clary muttered in childish reply. "My appetite was ruined."

Jocelyn set her fork down and sighed. "Clarissa. May I see you in the kitchen, please?"

Clary wordlessly scraped her chair back and trudged into the kitchen, fully aware of the fact that she was acting like a thirteen year old, as opposed to an eighteen year old. Her mother joined her, looking more exhausted than Clary had ever seen her, and she wondered for a moment if her mother was sleeping well. If maybe something was bothering her, something Clary had been blind to, since moving into the apartment she shared with her friends and spending her life at school.

She doubted that's what her mother wanted to talk about, however, so she kept her mouth shut.

"I'm sorry, Mom, I just—"

Jocelyn held up a hand. "Clary…Relax. I'm not here to lecture you. I'm not even a little bit irritated."

Clary blinked in surprise.

"I know that Jace must be very difficult. I understand that, I really do. But for the time being, I need you to put up with him. It's true that his parents and your stepfather and I are long time, good friends. But what's even more important right now is that we remain in their good graces."

Clary frowned. "Why?"

Jocelyn paled almost imperceptibly and bit her lip. "I shouldn't be telling you this," she said. "I really shouldn't. But Luke and I are very close to making a—a business deal, I suppose you could say, with the Herondales."

"Why didn't you guys just tell me that from the beginning?" Clary asked, beginning to feel a little guilty for the way she'd treated Jace in front of his parents. "I would have acted differently.

"We didn't want to put any more pressure on you," her mother explained. "You have enough to deal with, between school, work, and—and Sebastian. We just wanted you to relax and enjoy the chance to eat a home cooked meal without having to worry about anything else. Obviously, though, you've run into Jace before…and, though I do not want to hear the circumstances of your introduction, because I'm sure the story isn't decent for the average human's ears, I can assume it was unpleasant. So, now I'm asking you to treat him well. For my and your stepfather's sake."

Clary nodded. "Of course, Mom. I mean…he's...difficult." Difficult was an understatement. "But Jonathan is my brother." She grinned. "I can handle it."

Jocelyn smiled, though the smile didn't reach her eyes. She bent down and kissed her smaller daughter on the forehead. "I knew I could count on you."

Together, they walked back into the dining room, where the Herondales and Luke were conversing animatedly, and Jace was slumped down into his chair, looking as if he wanted to stick his knife in someone's throat. He looked up as Clary entered the room and his golden eyes slit like a cat's, but she only smiled in return.

She saw the flicker of surprise in his eyes, though he didn't express it outwardly. It was then she realized that her best chance at annoying him was to be ridiculously, irreproachably kind to him.

"Clary," Luke said, smiling at her with affection as she sat back down in her seat. "We were just talking about how nice it would be to have some ice cream for dessert."

Clary set her fork back down on her plate, despite just having picked it up. "Do you want me to run to Baskin Robbins and get a pint or two?" she offered.

"Maybe you could take Jace with you," Stephen said, his expression matching Luke's almost perfectly.

Clary stood from the table again and nodded, trying not to groan outwardly. "Of course. No problem. I'd _love _company."

Jace got out of his chair with a sigh. "In case I don't make it back alive," he said, his voice monotone and perfectly calm. "Please give my cat to an impressionist painter in Alphabet City."

Clary rolled her eyes.

* * *

"See those lines in the middle of the road?" Jace asked Clary, his hand tightening on the arm rest as they sped down the freeway. "You're supposed to drive _between _them."

"I _am _driving between them," Clary said, waiting too long to turn the corner and then wrenching the steering wheel to the side and throwing Jace against the window of the car.

"What the _hell_?!"

"_That's _why you wear a seatbelt, you moron," Clary said through gritted teeth, though she slowed down slightly and began to drive a bit more cautiously. "If we crashed right now, you'd go flying through the windshield."

"That doesn't mean you have to crash on purpose to exact your vengeance on me," Jace said, finally buckling his seatbelt. "I mean, unless you want to go to jail. In which case, I have one piece of advice: Don't hold too tightly onto the soap. Hold it gently in your hands, and you'll be less liable to drop it."

"That advice is only applicable if I were to go to a men's prison," Clary said, turning off the freeway.

"Is that where your boyfriend is now?"

Clary was silent for a moment, her knuckles turning white as she gripped the steering wheel. "What the hell is your problem?"

"I don't have a problem."

"No, you do," Clary argued, pulling up to the storefront of Baskin Robbins. "It isn't my fault that _you _decided to have sex in a _public girls' _restroom. It isn't my fault that your whore or whatever got pissed off at you and took off without letting you finish. It's not my fault that you have a bruised jaw. It's not my fault you seem to be in a permanently dark mood."

"You did dump coffee on me," Jace said, though he sounded more contemplative than angry. "You stained one of my favorite shirts. Now I have to pay for it to be dry cleaned."

Clary made a noise of exasperation. "It's not like you can't afford it. And may I remind you, _you're _the one who made fun of me, my best friend, and suggested that I was cheating on my boyfriend. I think your comments warranted the coffee."

Jace gave her a one shouldered shrug. "If you expect an apology, you're barking up the wrong tree."

"I don't," Clary said, pulling her key out of the ignition and dropping it into her purse. "I just…stop acting like an asshole, okay? My parents want me to get along with you because they're really good friends with your parents and they'd like us to remain on good terms."

"You chose the right time to ask that question. I don't think I would have agreed to this, had I not…participated in a certain gratifying physical activity mere hours before arriving at your house," Jace said, but when Clary turned to look at him in irritation, she saw a small smile tug at the corner of his lips.

Jace noticed her glare and smiled. "Truce?" He held out his hand.

Clary took it suspiciously. "Truce."

They both exited the car, Clary shutting the door and locking her car.

"I can't promise to never be irritating, though," Jace said, chivalrously holding the door open for her. "It's in my nature to be as infuriating as possible. Most girls think it's charming."

"You need to redefine the word charming," Clary said with a snort.

* * *

Clary and Jace had gotten back to Clary's house without any more arguments or mishaps (though Clary suspected the only reason that Jace was in such a good mood was because he'd had sex earlier that day, and she kept wondering when his mood was going to dissipate). The ice cream had put them both in a better mood, and Clary couldn't help but notice the way her mother was watching her with a curious and wondering expression on her face.

"When are we going back to the hotel?" Jace asked, leaning back into the armchair he'd settled in earlier, after a long silence held by everyone in the room. "I have stuff to do."

Clary couldn't help but raise her eyebrows, and Jace smirked slightly.

Jace's father cleared his throat. "Actually, we're not going back to the hotel. The Garroways have graciously offered to let us stay here while we look for a new house, and your mother and I have elected to take them up on that offer."

Despite Clary's truce with Jace, a groan forced its way up her throat and threatened to escape her lips. Jace's smirk had disappeared and was replaced by slight disbelief.

Clary bit her lip. "We…we don't have any extra room, though. Where are you going to stay?"

Jocelyn and Luke glanced quickly at each other. "Well, honey," Jocelyn said slowly. "We thought we'd put a bed in my studio, so Stephen and Celine could have their own private room. And we have a fold up bed to put in your room…so Jace can have somewhere to sleep."

Jace and Clary stared at their parents. Clary broke the silence first, Jace soon following in his indignation.

"Seriously?"

"You do realize that I am a male and she is a female, right?"

"We hardly even _know _each other!"

"Why do I have to take the fold up bed? I'm twice her height!"

"This is ridiculous."

"We're never going to fit in that room."

"We might kill each other."

"Don't blame me if you wake up tomorrow morning and Clary's missing."

"My room's barely big enough for _my _stuff!"

"_Enough_!" Stephen cut through their complaining, and Clary could see the same fire in his eyes that she'd seen in his son's. "You two have done nothing but act with hostility toward each other all night. It's childish and inappropriate. You are nineteen and twenty years old. You are adults. Start acting like it.

Learn that as adults, you have to make compromises, because sometimes that's what works for the group. Both of you are welcome to get up and leave right now, but know that if you do, you are claiming full responsibility for yourselves, and will therefore get no support from any of us. If you don't want to pay your own way in the world right now, you will still abide by our rules, as we are your parents, and we still have the right to tell you what to do."

Jace was silent for only a moment before he spoke again. "What was wrong with the hotel?"

It was Celine who addressed her son, next. "The hotel asked us not to return after you…stained the carpet in your room. They have to completely redo the carpeting in that room, Jace."

"Great." Clary threw her hands up in the air and collapsed back into the couch. "I have to give up my privacy and well being for who the hell knows how long because _you _couldn't keep it in your pants. Thanks a lot."

Jace glared at her.

_There goes our short lived truce, _Clary thought bitterly.

"Clarissa," Jocelyn said, her voice tight. "The attitude is not appreciated."

"Neither is the sacrifice of my privacy."

"You're welcome to pay the $80,000 a year in tuition and living expenses you require to attend Tisch," Luke said quietly, but firmly.

Clary stood up, setting her jaw tightly. "Fine." She turned to Jace and found that his expression mirrored hers. "Come on Goldilocks," she said. "And try not to ruin my carpet, or I'll kick you onto the living room couch."


	4. On the Move

For the fourth time that night, Clary scrambled to a sitting position in her bed, ripping her sleep mask off and glaring at Jace, whose foldout bed was positioned just at the foot of hers. "That light," she hissed through gritted teeth, "is brighter than the damn sun, Jace. For God's sake, can't you just _go to sleep_?"

"It's not my fault," Jace said innocently. He flashed the lamp in Clary's eyes and batted his eyelashes at her. "I have insomnia."

Clary groaned and fell back into her pillows, watching the shadows coming from the lamp dance on her ceiling. "So much for a truce," she mumbled.

"We both knew that wasn't going to work out anyway," Jace remarked, turning a smooth rock he'd found in the river outside his childhood home over and over in his hand. He pulled out his pocketknife.

"Why not?" Clary said irritably. "I thought it was going fine, until I was told I had to deal with the consequences of _your _actions."

Jace began scraping the blade of his knife against the rock, intent on the task of sharpening the blade. "You're annoying," he said simply. "Nearly everything you do makes me want to grab you by your shirt and shake you until your eyes roll back in your head."

Clary glared at him.

He looked up at her, his expression unapologetic. "Or maybe it's because of who you're dating." Jace pursed his lips and went back to sharpening his knife. "Sebastian Verlac."

Clary's expression turned to one of surprise and suspicion. "How do you know his name?"

Jace laughed, though the sound was devoid of merriment. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

Clary's eyes narrowed. "I would, actually. Hence, the reason I asked."

Jace hit the blade against the rock a little too hard. "He should be behind bars. But his father somehow manages to bail him out of every sticky situation he gets himself into."

Clary opened her mouth to protest, but Jace, upon hearing her sharp intake of breath, cut her off.

"Sebastian is, has been, and always will be nothing short of an asshole. I'd go as far as to say he's pure evil, but that requires an explanation, and given your attitude toward me, I'm not inclined to give you one."

"I think pure evil is taking it a bit far," Clary replied anyway, watching the muscles in Jace's jaw jump and work as she spoke. "Think he's an asshole all you want, but he isn't evil."

Jace slipped the rock into the pocket of his jacket, which had been hung over the back of a nearby chair. "I'm willing to bet you $50 that he's sleeping with someone else right now."

Clary swallowed hard. "Look at yourself in the mirror. Then come and tell me who the asshole is."

Jace folded his hands in his lap and looked at her with an expression that sent a chill running down her spine. "I don't care for your opinion of me. You can hate me all you want, but it doesn't change the fact that he's a sneak and a rotten liar. A conniving rat."

Clary furrowed her brow. "What the hell did he do to you?"

Jace's expression darkened. "That's none of your business."

"If you're going to be so adamant about it, I think it is part of my business," she replied, glaring at him. "I deserve an explanation."

Jace said nothing, but instead took his phone from his pajama pants pocket, laid back on his pull out, and began to scroll through something on his phone.

"And how the hell do you two know each other anyway?"

Jace made a noise of exasperation. "We've been in school together since we were six."

Clary's eyebrows shot up. "You grew up in Seattle?"

"Is that what he told you?" Jace replied with a snort. "No. We both grew up in Manhattan."

Clary was silent.

Jace turned his head to look at her. "Makes you wonder what else he's lying about."

_A lot, _Clary thought, drawing her legs up and resting her chin on her knees.

The truth was, Clary had already guessed he was probably sleeping with someone else. He'd done it before, and she'd caught him in the act. And somehow, he'd managed to get her to crawl back to him on her hands and knees and beg him to come back to her. Sebastian's abstinence from sex with Clary wasn't because he valued their relationship more, or because he was afraid to take anything too fast, or anything considerate at all. The simple fact was that Clary was a virgin and inexperienced.

Sebastian found it more convenient to have one night stands and not tell Clary about it, than to bother trying to have awkward, first time sex with his girlfriend. Sex that he probably wouldn't even enjoy.

Clary didn't want to give Jace the satisfaction of being right.

She laid back and burrowed beneath her blankets, drawing the covers up to her chin. "You know nothing," she repeated stubbornly.

Jace sighed and turned out the light.

* * *

_Another night crawled above the kasbah, the stars never so slow in their arc as when lives were in question. _

_Karou distracted herself with work, a new urgency in the building of bodies. She tried not to think as if she were starting from scratch, but it was hard, with such grim odds._

The sound of the doorbell ripped Clary's attention from her book, which she set down irritably. She stared at the wall in front of her, contemplating whether or not she should actually get up and go answer the door—again—or stay seated and finish reading her book.

The doorbell rang three more times, the ringer getting more irritated with her delay, and she rolled her eyes. She rose from the couch muttering under her breath.

"I swear," she breathed, padding in her socked feet to the entryway of the small upstate farmhouse. "If Jace locked himself out again, he can stay there for all I care. This is the fourth time he's interrupted me in the past five hours."

She yanked the door open, prepared to give Jace the dirtiest glare he'd ever received in his pretty little life, and immediately snapped her jaw shut in surprise. Before her, on the porch, stood a tall man dressed in rich, black velvet, with an insignia on his right breast—a symbol she'd only seen once before in her entire life.

Four interlocked C's.

Suddenly self-conscious about the pajama shorts and camisole she was wearing, she wrapped her arms around herself and tried leaning against the door casually. "Can I help you?" she asked.

The man raised an eyebrow at her, which made her stomach turn sour with irritation. " Are Valentine and Jocelyn Morgenstern here?"

At the sound of her father's name, Clary tensed. Valentine Morgenstern had disappeared with her brother, Jonathan, one night when she was barely five years old. She remembered the next morning clearly. She had awoken to find her mother curled up on the couch under a knit blanket, holding a cold cup of tea and staring blankly at the TV screen before her—a screen that hadn't even been turned on. Curious and confused, Clary asked where her father and Jonathan were, and it was then that Jocelyn had broken her stare long enough to look her daughter in the eye and tell her that her father and brother were gone, and that they were never coming back.

Clary swallowed. "No. My father left fourteen years ago, and my mother is out with her husband."

The man opened his mouth to say something further, but Clary cut him off. "And she doesn't go by Morgenstern anymore. Neither of us do," she added, not without some irritation.

The man cleared his throat, his dark eyes searching her expression—for what, she didn't know. All she knew was that she wanted him to turn around, walk back down the steps of her porch, and never bother her again. "My name is Robert Lightwood," he said, gruffly. A thick envelope appeared in his hand, though Clary supposed she'd been too unnerved earlier to notice it. He held it out to her, and on its cover was stamped the same seal as was on his breast.

"When your mother and your stepfather come home, could you please deliver this to them? It's urgent."

Clary took the envelope hesitatingly, eyeing him as he tried to peer over her head and into her house.

He looked back down at her. "You don't happen to know where the Herondales have disappeared to, do you?" he asked.

Clary looked at him with some surprise, nearly dropping the envelope. The Herondales? How did this man…this man who bore the same symbol she'd found her mother burning in a fireplace ten years earlier…know who the Herondales were? And why did he think she'd have any connection to that family?

Though, she supposed, tightening her grip on the envelope, she couldn't say she didn't. She looked back up at Robert and took a deep breath. "Um, yeah. They're living with us right now, until they can find a new apartment in the city."

Robert's eyebrows rose, and Clary thought she detected a glimmer of surprise in his eyes. He clenched his jaw and handed her another, identical envelope, though this time, instead of the stamp being red, the stamp was gold. "This one is for the Herondales."

Clary nodded, watching warily as Robert turned back toward the steps.

He stopped suddenly, and turned back, looking at her with an expression she didn't expect to see on such a gruff man's face. "Can you ask Jace to contact Alec?"

Clary frowned in confusion. "Who the hell—"

Robert held up a hand. "Just do it. Tell him Alec is beginning to worry. Tell him Max is asking questions. He'll understand."

Clary gave him a small nod, and watched until his car disappeared down the drive to turn back into the house.

* * *

The garage door of the house slammed shut and propelled an anxiously waiting Clary to her feet. She ran to the other side of the house, a thick, creamy piece of parchment with heavy, inky words fluttering wildly in her pale hand. She slid to a stop at the end of the hallway, where Jace, who had just come in the door, stood, taking his boots off and adjusting his socks.

He looked up at her in surprise, no doubt trying to process her wild-eyed expression, her extraneously pale face, her shaking hands. "Are you okay?" he asked, real concern creeping into his voice, cutting through the sarcasm he'd intended.

Wordlessly, Clary held out the piece of paper, her hand shaking so badly that he had to grab her wrist and hold it still before he could actually wrench the paper from her grip. He watched her wrap her arms around herself, spin on her heel, and walk back to the living room.

"What the hell has you so—"

"Just read it," Clary snapped, dropping onto the living room couch.

With a shake of his head, Jace adjusted the paper in his hand, and lifted it to read. Clary watched him intently, as the farther he read, the paler his skin turned, the wider his golden eyes grew. "What the hell is this?" he asked, when finished, his voice half an octave higher than it had been when she'd handed him the letter.

Clary stood back up, her arms crossed. "You tell me."

"Why would I know?" he asked her, furrowing his brow. "Why the hell would I try to come up with something like this?"

"My parents were talking about some kind of business deal they were close to making with yours. Is that what this is?" Clary's skin was quickly regaining some of its color as her temper rose. "Am _I _the business deal?"

Jace looked at her with incredulity. "How the hell would I know? According to this letter, I'm just as much a part of this as _you _are!"

Clary bit her lip.

"And why didn't I get this letter?"

Clary looked back at the couch, where the other envelope was, shining in the afternoon light coming from the window. "I think you did," she muttered, snatching it up off the cushion and handing it to him.

Jace ripped open the envelope, scanning the first document inside. He laughed mirthlessly. "Same exact letter, different address."

_To Stephen and Celine Herondale._

_It has come to the Clave's intention, recently, that, contrary to what was previously believed, both your child and the Morgenstern girl are, indeed, alive. Were it not for the simple fact that you are Jonathan Christopher Herondale's parents, and are a crucial part of this world and the way it, unfortunately, must work, you would be subject to judgement by the Council, and likely stripped of your runes, exiled from your own people._

_However. This discovery, though later than it should have been, has arrived at an opportune moment. According to Shadowhunter Law, both parties must be of the legal age of 18 before they can wed. We noticed Clarissa celebrated her nineteenth birthday recently, and have since made the executive decision to proceed with the betrothal made before Clarissa and Jonathan's births. _

_We are sure the announcement of their engagement will bring hope to our exiled people, and fear to those who have occupied our beloved country. However, if this is not enough of an incentive to carry on with the betrothal, do know that should you fail to follow these instructions, you and your children will be handed to the Downworlders in Idris, as is custom, and as is Law._

_Descensus facilis Averno est._

_Consul Wayland._

"And what the hell does that mean?" Clary asked, pointing to the foreign inscription on the bottom of the page.

"It means 'The descent into Hell is easy,'" Jace said, folding the paper back up and shoving it into the envelope. "What else is in the envelope?"

Clary drew her hand back out of hers, holding up a simple band of white gold. "Looks big enough to fit your hand," she said, pursing her lips in distaste.

Jace held up another ring, also white gold, but adorned with a large, simply cut diamond.

"The other documents," Clary said, sitting back down on the couch and letting her head fall into her hands, "are from over twenty years ago. I already read them all."

"And?" Jace dropped the ring back into the envelope as though it had burned him.

"They look official," she said wryly. "They've even been sealed and approved by the United States government…somehow."

"You don't think this is some practical joke?" Jace asked, dropping the envelope onto the table, and sitting on the opposite side of the couch. "There's no way this can be legal."

"Looks pretty legal to me."

"There's no way," he repeated. "There's no way."

Clary finally looked at him, frowning. "Am I that disgusting to you? Really?"

"It doesn't matter how ugly or pretty you are," Jace bit back. "What matters is that, if all this is honestly, legally binding…If I have to…_marry _you…You are not my choice. My choice was made for me. _That's _what matters, and don't say something to make yourself look better in this situation. Don't even try. Because I know you're thinking the exact same thing."

They sat on the couch in shocked silence, together, until they both lost track of time, both lost in their own minds. Both lost in their own, appalled minds.

And all at once, somehow, their parents arrived home.

Jace clenched his jaw. He stood from the couch, grabbed the keys to his bike, wrenched his leather jacket on over his arms, and stormed out the door. He knocked his own father to the side forcefully, angrily, and he didn't turn back when his father shouted for him to explain his anger. And before any of the adults could formulate a thought in their mind as to what had angered him so much, he was gone.

Jocelyn, worried, led the others into the house to find Clary standing in the living room, her expression one of fury, her arms crossed.

"Clary?" Jocelyn asked. "Honey, what happened?"

Clary thrust out the envelope.


	5. Take Your Gun

_**The Explanation**_

"Neither of you were born here. And by 'here', I mean in this country, or even on this continent. Few of our people have been born anywhere other than where you two were born.

You see, there's a country in Europe that has been drawn into few maps—maps that our people own, maps that those who oppose us own, and maps that special agents within world governments own. Most country leaders know of its existence, but have formed an agreement—a pact, of sorts—to keep the existence of our country a secret. And our country's name is Idris.

Both of you were born in Idris, specifically at the only hospital in the country, in the City of Glass, named Alicante. Your brother, Jonathan, Clary, was also born in Alicante. And it is there that we all resided, until Jace was about two, Clary only a year old. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

Idris is ruled by sovereign monarchs. Two sovereign monarchs, in fact, whose existence has been foretold in many of our legends and prophecies. There will always be two on the thrones of Idris—a man and a woman, husband and wife. If one or the other is missing, they cannot rule. There is a book—the Grey book—that tells of each future monarch—what their names will be, when and where they will be born, down to the room and the minute of their birth. We do not know how the author seemed to know these things, but the book has proven faultless so far. There is a special, almost fantastical, element in each of the predicted monarch's blood. We aren't sure exactly what it is, yet, but when the blood is tested, there is always something extra, something different about a monarch's blood.

Well. Most recently, the book foretold of a Jonathan Christopher Herondale and a Clarissa Adele Morgenstern. Jonathan Christopher was to be born on January 9th, 1995, at 2:03 pm, in room 424 of the Alicante Community Hospital. Clarissa Adele was to be born on August 12, 1996, at 9:13 am, in room 428 of the Alicante Community Hospital. It is currently unknown how a prophet in the year 1378 knew what a hospital was or even what standard time was, but every monarch is written down in the Grey Book, which, by the way, can only be opened by the head of the Silent Brother's Council. It is the Council, as well, that informs the parents of the children who are in line for the throne, approximately two years after the children are born.

I'm sure you've figured out by now that the children most recently mentioned in the book are the two of you. However, when the Silent Brothers showed up at the Herondale household, three days after Jace's second birthday, Jace's parents panicked. Many are told of the possibility that their child could be next in line for the throne, but few actually expect it, and even fewer want it to happen. The life of a monarch is rigorous and certainly not the sort of life a parent expects for their child. The Silent Brothers informed Stephen and Celine that their son was betrothed to the Morgensterns' new little girl, Clarissa, and after they left, Celine rode to the Morgenstern household to inform Jocelyn.

Neither mother wanted their children to have that sort of life. Neither mother wanted to force their children to grow up under the protective, watchful eye of the Clave, or to have to marry each other when they became of age. So the Morgensterns and the Herondales plotted to smuggle their children out of the country. They constructed a large fire, burning down the Morgenstern household, in which both of their children were supposedly found to be dead—burned alive. After the funerals of the deceased, future monarchs, the Morgensterns and the Herondales stole out of Idris, and began to raise their children in America, instead.

And that's how the two of you came to be here. The Clave—the body that governs all of Idris—somehow found out that the two of you didn't die in a fire, but are, in fact, alive. And they want you two on the throne."

* * *

After Luke finished speaking, the room was enveloped in a charged kind of silence. Clary couldn't help but gape at Luke and her mother, who looked slightly ashamed, or at Jace's parents, who looked rather rebellious. Even Jace looked unsettled—no, not unsettled. He looked like he was going to throw up.

"You must have questions," Jocelyn said, haltingly. Her deep green eyes watched her daughter's face with worry and concern.

"Q-questions?" Clary breathed. The hysterical urge to start laughing bubbled up in her chest, but she fought it down. "I…I don't even—"

"Why are they so eager for us to…to rule?" Jace asked, interrupting Clary midsentence. "If it's that important, can't the Clave or the Council or whatever they are rule the country until the next monarchs are born?"

Luke looked to Stephen, who nodded. Stephen cleared his throat. "A Silent Brother showed up at our house about a week ago, Jace. That's why we moved, in fact…But the Silent Brother was the one who told us that the Clave knew you two were alive, even before they composed those letters. And the Silent Brother told us that the next monarch, the one after you and Clary, was to be a Herondale. Apparently, there will be a Herondale on the throne for the next four generations."

"Couldn't they mean another Herondale?" Clary asked. "I mean, Jace's relatives could be having those children…"

"There aren't any other Herondales, dear," Celine said sympathetically. "Jace is the last one."

"Well, why can't he have children with another person? It doesn't have to be me—"

"Yes," Jocelyn interrupted. "It does. The element that makes the two of you—well, 'royal', for lack of a better word—prevents you from doing a lot of…other things. Such as having children with people besides each other. We aren't sure how. But it's the only reason either of our families has allowed the two of you to be in relationships with other people. We knew that if you had children, Clary, or if Jace did, by accident, the Clave would immediately be notified of their presence by the mundane hospitals, and the Clave would come and take you away. And your children. But because of that element, it's physically impossible for you to have children with anyone else."

Jace looked like someone had drained every last drop of blood from his body, and Clary suspected she looked the same. She felt sick, her heart was beating much too hard, and she felt dizzy.

"Why is it so important for us to rule, though?" Jace asked. "Why couldn't they just…force us to have a kid…and then take the kid?"

Clary looked at him in horror. "You'd be willing to hand over your first child just so they didn't take _you_?"

Jace didn't look at her. "No, I…I was just using it as an example."

Stephen passed a hand over his face and took a deep breath. "There is another group of people that want to live in Idris—they've named themselves the Downworlders, because they live in the Brocelind Forest on the south border of the country. But they want possession of the whole country, including Alicante. So, hundreds and hundreds of years ago, the Clave and the Downworlders created a pact, called the Accords. Essentially, what the Accords say, is that should, for whatever reason, the monarchs prophesied be unable to rule or ascend to the throne, the Downworlders would be given possession of the country until the next monarch could ascend."

"So when we…died…the Downworlders took over?" Clary asked.

Celine nodded. "The entire population of our country was exiled. Our people are scattered across the face of the earth, foreigners in their own land. That's why the Clave wants you on the throne so badly. If you two manage to ascend, the Downworlders will be forced back to Brocelind."

"So, basically," Jace said, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the arms of the chair he was in, "if Clary and I don't…ascend to the throne and have children…the Downworlders will have possession of the country for an eternity. Because without us, the Idrisians can't take back their country, and the next monarchs will never be born."

Jocelyn nodded hesitantly. "Essentially. Yes."

"And if we refuse to…get married…" Jace trailed off.

"You'll be given over to the Downworlders," Stephen replied.

"Who will probably kill us," Clary finished, the bubble of hysteria rising in her chest again. She swallowed hard.

Celine nodded wordlessly.

"And you thought the solution to all of this would just be to tell the Clave that we died? And to run away?" Jace asked incredulously. He had leaned forward in his chair now, a little bit of color returning to his cheeks as his anger increased.

Celine paled. "We didn't know about the Accords. We didn't know the entire population of the country would be cast out. We just didn't want our children to have to suffer the sort of childhood a monarch is forced to go through. It isn't pleasant…No child should have to shoulder that sort of burden."

"And you didn't even bother to tell us any of this?" Clary winced at how strained her voice sounded. "This…this could be really dangerous, and yet we had no clue."

"Nobody but the Clave knows that you two exist, sweetheart," Jocelyn said, reaching her hand out to touch her daughter's shoulder.

Clary jerked away. "Did you ever think that maybe, once the Downworlders find out that we exist, they might try and kill us? We don't even know how to defend ourselves! I know nothing about…about defense, or ruling a country, I mean…I've never even—"

"So, we're stuck. Basically," Jace said, his voice as bitter as poison, "we have two options: Subject ourselves to each other and the Clave, or death."

"Basically." Celine's voice was a hoarse whisper.

"You've done quite a wonderful job of hiding us," Jace said, his eyes bright with malice and pain. He stood up from the chair. "I'm going to bed. It's three in the morning and I don't want to talk about this anymore."

Clary twisted her fingers in her lap. She couldn't very well run away from Jace if he was going to bed…he was going to bed in her room. Surely, he didn't want her, of all people, there. She knew he didn't blame her for anything—just as she didn't blame him—but looking at him just made the entire situation to fresh and too real.

"Are you coming?"

Clary looked up at him, blinking as if clearing water from her eyes. "Me?"

Jace raised an eyebrow. "Yes, you. _Roomie_."

The way he said 'roomie' made it sound like the nastiest word in the world, but she stood up anyway, brushing off her pants. "Yeah," she muttered. "Let's go."

* * *

Clary and Jace sat in their prospective beds, not doing anything, but not looking at each other either. Clary's bedside lamp was turned on, and she couldn't help but keep glancing at Jace, who didn't seem to have taken his eyes off his own hands for the last ten minutes.

_My husband_, she thought, trying to envision that sort of a future, but when she imagined him in that way, something in her brain recoiled. Everything inside of her was screaming at her to run away, run to Sebastian's, run to California or something, somewhere she could never be found. She could tell Jace to run to the other side of the world. She could change her identity, maybe live her life with Sebastian. He didn't want kids, anyway…

She stared at Jace. His golden blond curls were starting to get a little too long, just so that when he bent his head, they fell over into his eyes. His eyelashes were long and nearly brushed over the tops of his high cheekbones, catching the light from the lamp. His skin was lightly tanned, and his body was carefully, meticulously worked out. She could see his back muscles pulling at the fabric of his white t-shirt, and under the collar of his shirt, there was a circular bruise, near his collarbone.

Clary swallowed and narrowed her eyes. "Is that a _hickey_?" she asked, finally shattering their silence.

Jace looked at her lazily. "Staring is rude,"

"How did you get a hickey between this afternoon and now?" she asked, incredulous.

Jace's lips pulled into a small smirk.

"You're disgusting," Clary replied, wrinkling her nose. "You found out that you have to marry someone you barely know, and your reaction was to run away like a scared little boy, and have sex to console yourself?"

"If it makes you feel better," Jace said, leaning against the wall. "It wasn't all that great."

"That's pathetic."

"I know," Jace yawned. "She was so desperate, too. Desperate and pathetic makes for a terrible partner."

"I wasn't calling…whoever she is…pathetic," Clary bit back.

Jace laughed shortly. "I'm aware of that. I just chose to deflect your comment. I'm quite good at it."

"So is that how you're going to be?" Clary felt her hysteria slowly being replaced with anger and injury. "Every time something doesn't go your way, are you going to run off and find some poor, desperate girl to have sex with? Dump them on the side of the road, come back, act like it never happened?"

Jace shrugged. "I can't get anyone pregnant, apparently. Why not?"

Clary opened her mouth to reply, indignant, but Jace cut her off.

"Actually…the fact that I can't get anyone pregnant is amazing." His voice was wondering. "I never have to use a condom, ever again."

Clary finally laughed, her incredulity and hysteria catching up with her and mixing together. "I can't believe this," she said, wiping her eyes, the laughter never ceasing. "This is ridiculous. Whoever even thought a situation like this was possible?"

Jace shifted against the wall uncomfortably. "Look," he said after a pause. "I'm not that big of a—"

"An asshole?" Clary interrupted, taking a deep breath.

Jace narrowed his golden eyes. "I was going to say 'jerk,' but if asshole works better for you, fine."

Clary bit her lip.

"I'm not going to run out on you, okay? I'm not going to put both our lives needlessly in danger. I can't say I'm going to love you, or be easy to deal with in this situation, however. I barely know you, and from what I've seen, frankly, you unsettle me, and the last thing I want to do is marry you."

His words stung Clary more than she thought they would have.

"However," he said. "I'm not an idiot. If this is what we have to do, in order to…restore an entire people's home…then so be it. I'll deal with it, and so will you."

Clary nodded silently, not trusting herself to speak.

"That means you have to break up with Sebastian," Jace said, his voice dropping lower. She could see the anger and the malice glittering in his eyes, and for the fifth time since she'd met him, she wondered what on earth could have made Jace hate Sebastian so much. "And by break up, I mean break all ties with him. You cannot be friends anymore. You cannot talk to him, and you have to make sure he knows that he holds no control over you anymore."

"Anymore?" Clary snorted. "He doesn't control me at all—"

"That's what you think." Jace folded his hands behind his head. "But I can guarantee you that if you continue in this relationship with him, you'll wake up one day and find that you obey his every command."

"You know nothing—"

"I've seen it happen before, Clarissa," Jace said, narrowing his eyes again. "I told you before, I know more than you likely ever will."

"You can't tell me what to do," she said, petulantly.

Jace snorted. "We're off to a _great_ start."

* * *

_**Okey dokey! I didn't reach 100 reviews like I really wanted to, but that's ok. Thank you to all of you who did review! It means so much to me when you do :)**_

_**Reader Questions of the Chapter: Do you think that Clary and Jace are going to be able to put aside their differences without a catalyst? (I.E. Do you think they'll be able to cooperate without some big event happening that forces them to cooperate?)**_

_**What's your favorite song in the whole wide world?**_

_**What do you want to see in upcoming chapters?**_

_**The more you review, the sooner I'll update! I love you all!**_


	6. March for General Washington

_**Dear Guest Reviewer: I am very sorry that my very fleeting 'I'll update sooner if you review more' offended you so much. I assure you that when I wrote it, it was more of a joke and a last ditch effort to close the chapter than an actual plea for reviews.**_

_**That being said. I am certainly not holding chapters 'hostage for reviews.' I'm going to update every week, if I can. It's been a bit difficult for me this past week or so, and I will explain more at the bottom. When an author asks for reviews, it is not a 'thirst for approval.' The fact of the matter is, the more popular, well-approved fics get more reviews than the less popular ones. It's a good sign that you have a good story if it's getting a decent amount of reviews.**_

_**Publishers, for example, are not going to release a second book if no one likes the first one. If I write a chapter that few people review, I'm concerned that it was written poorly, or that the story is no longer interesting. I don't ask for approval reviews necessarily. I ask for reviews period. I.E., usually if someone doesn't like a chapter or the writing style, and I admit, I'm guilty of this as well, they just stop reading the fic instead of helping the author improve, and as an author myself, when your chapters tend to get a certain amount of positive feedback, and you post another and suddenly no one cares to comment…it's very discouraging. That is why I ask for reviews. Not to seek approval, but to encourage those who may not wish to review to do so.**_

_**In fact, there have been several occasions where I plan to update within a certain time frame, I receive an enormous and unexpected amount of positive feedback, and the feedback motivates me to update earlier than normal. No review is worthless to me. Is it sometimes frustrating when all people leave is 'Update'? Yes. However, it isn't worthless, because the reviewer did actually take the time to write a review. I always care about intelligent and insightful reviews, such as yours.**_

_**I am, however, glad that you chose to say this to me. As bitter as your review sounded, you took the time to bring a problem that had never even crossed my mind to my attention. I hope you enjoy this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it, and I hope you review if you feel so compelled to.**_

_**Readers: I apologize for the length of this note.**_

* * *

_**Clary**_

Clary leaned back in her chair and sipped her lemonade ruminatively, watching Jace use his steak knife to file away at his fingernails. She wondered if he'd find fingernail shavings later, in his meal. The thought disgusted her and she quickly put her lemonade back down.

Jace's father had thought it would be a good idea to get out and spend some time together, and had thus sent them out to lunch, all expenses paid by him, to a rather expensive restaurant in Manhattan. He'd reserved them a table on the patio, and despite the presence of an umbrella, the sun shone brightly enough on the two of them that they were both wearing sunglasses to counteract the glare. Clary was grateful. As long as the glasses were over her eyes, Jace would be unable to read her expressions.

Though it worked the other way around, as well. She couldn't tell what he was thinking or feeling at all, because all he had to do was keep his mouth smooth and the glasses over his eyes.

Clary cleared her throat. "When are the Clave's representatives supposed to come talk to us?"

Jace set the knife back down on the napkin and ran his hands down the front of his navy blue t-shirt. "I'm not sure. Day after tomorrow, I think, so….Thursday. That's what I heard my mother saying to Jocelyn, anyway."

"How are we going to do this?" Clary asked, rubbing her temples and biting her lip. "I got hardly any sleep last night because all I could think about was how angry all these people we don't even know are going to be with us."

Jace frowned. "Why would they be angry with _us_? If they're going to be angry with anyone, it's going to be our parents."

"Yeah, but they'll take it out on _us_," she replied. "They can't go to our parents and complain, but they'll be able to come to us and complain."

"Is that really what you're worried about?"

Clary glared at him. "Is that a problem?"

Jace shrugged and leaned back as the waitress arrived with their orders. She set his plate in front of him first and when he turned to grin at her and say 'Thank you', she blushed furiously.

Clary wanted to throw her lemonade in the waitress's face.

"I just thought," Jace said, twirling his fork around in his pasta, "that you'd be more worried about whoever the leader of the Downworlders is right now."

Clary frowned.

Jace took off his sunglasses and swallowed his bite of spaghetti. "If you think for one second that the Downworlders are going to honor the Accords or whatever and clear out of the country, you're wrong. There's going to be some kind of resistance—some kind of war."

"And you think we're going to have to fight in it?" Clary asked, panic creeping in on her voice.

Jace shook his head. "No, I don't think we'll have to _fight_. But I do think we'll be in charge of a lot of it. Overseeing and approving of things. And as soon as the Downworlders figure out that you and I are alive and planning to take over, they're going to come after us, mark my words."

"How do you know all this?" Clary's eyes widened underneath her sunglasses as images of people coming to her and asking her to sign orders to send three thousand people to a possible, gruesome death filling her mind.

Jace shrugged again. "I mostly just figured it out on my own. That, and I overheard Luke on the phone with the Clave discussing bodyguards, or some way of protecting our lives until we move to Idris. Once we get to Idris, apparently, they have some weird palace kind of thing at the center of Alicante, and it's nearly impossible to get in. They'll have to clear the Downworlders out first, of course."

Clary swallowed her words and stabbed her fork into her salad, trying to ignore the way her heart had begun to pound. She wasn't particularly keen on the idea of becoming some sort of monarch and being responsible for so many people's livelihood. She could barely even take care of herself. How was she expected to take care of thousands and thousands of people?

Not to mention the level of danger she and Jace were putting themselves in. He was right. It wasn't like the Downworlders were going to go peacefully, Accords or not. And the advantage was on the Downworlders' side. The Idrisians were scattered across the face of the planet and in no way prepared to fight against an army that had a home advantage. Would Idris even be the same place the Idrisians had left? How many of the Idrisians actually wanted to go back? How many of them would actually want to work to take back their homeland? Risk their lives, risk their families and their livelihood…

Clary took a quick drink of her lemonade, her thoughts rising into her head and evaporating in rapid succession. She looked back up to find Jace watching her, his brow furrowed.

"What?" she snapped.

Jace raised his eyebrows. "You look like you're going to throw up."

"I'm not."

"Just let me know if you do," he said, twirling his fork around in his pasta again. "So I can leave."

"How thoughtful," she mumbled.

"It is," Jace said, brightening.

Clary sighed.

"Anyway," he continued, setting his fork down and wiping his hands on his napkin. "I doubt that they'll have us in the middle of it much. More than likely, we'll be under constant, heavy security and surveillance. They don't want us dead. If we die, especially without producing the next heir, then all of this will be for nothing."

Clary looked at him again, worry creeping back into her mind. "Are we likely to die?"

"Not if they guard us as much as I think they will."

_What kind of a life is that?_ Clary couldn't help but think.

She'd never envied the lives of the rich and famous. She'd never looked on in jealousy as the President stepped out of his sleek black car, smiled and waved at the public, and been escorted by dozens of burly men in suits. She'd never sighed over a tabloid picture of a well beloved actress and wished she had people that fought to take pictures of her. She'd never wanted that kind of life, and now, it seemed, she was about to be forced to have that kind of life.

At least, to a degree.

She felt a little bit like Mia Thermopolis, from The Princess Diaries. Except, even if she defined herself as a princess, or took excitement in the fact that she was to become the sovereign ruler (or, one of them, at least) of an entire nation, she couldn't brag to her friends about it. None of them knew the nation existed. None of them were allowed to know the nation existed.

Clary clenched her jaw. A very large part of her resented her parents for lying to her for her entire life. For making this so much more difficult. For putting her in a position that forced her to choose something she didn't really have a choice in.

She stabbed at her salad.

"Are you going to answer my question, or are going to keep trying to murder an already dead plant?"

Clary blinked in confusion. "Hm?"

Jace rolled his eyes. "I said, 'Who came to the house the other day to deliver the letters?'"

"Oh." Clary set her fork down. "This big, burly guy with the Clave symbol on his jacket. Rob, or Robert or something."

"Robert Lightwood?"

Clary looked back up at Jace to find him suddenly pale, his hands clenched into fists. She frowned. "Um…yeah, I think so. He said to talk to Alex or Max, or something. Said that they were worried or whatever. I was supposed to tell you that, like, two days ago…"

Jace leaned back in his chair and ran his hands through his hair. "_Shit_," he said under his breath. "_Shit._"

Clary looked at him in alarm. "What? What's the big deal? How do you know them?"

"I…" Jace shifted uncomfortably in his chair, the entire meal seemingly forgotten, and rubbed the back of his neck. "When I was ten years old…well. My parents were out of my life for awhile. I still don't have the best relationship with them, because of…what happened…But suffice to say that from the time I was 10 to the time I was about 17, I lived with Robert and his family—the Lightwoods. Robert, his wife Maryse, and their children, Alec, Isabelle, and Max."

"But if your parents are…back," Clary pondered, propping her elbows up on the table. "Then why did Robert say that Alec and Max were worried and asking questions?"

Jace rubbed the back of his neck again, his skin devoid of its usual pallor. "I kind of left without telling them. I told Robert and Maryse in a letter, when I was 19, where I'd gone to. But I never told Alec or Max. Or Izzy. When the letter came from my parents telling me…telling me to come home…the Lightwoods had become like my family. I was too much of a coward to tell them that I had to leave them after seven years. So I essentially erased myself from their lives."

"And their family is from Idris? How did they not know who you were?"

"I didn't know they were from Idris," Jace said, shrugging. "I doubt they knew who the heir was, anyway. They probably knew I was an Idrisian, because they knew who my parents were, or, I guess, are. But you heard what Luke said. The names of the heirs aren't given to the public for years. They never heard who their heirs were, just that they had passed and that they had to get out of the country."

"Oh." Clary leaned back in her chair, watching as Jace did the same. "You should probably pay them a visit. You know, since you basically govern their lives now."

Jace nodded and signaled the waitress to bring their check. "Do you need me to give you a ride to your house, or are you okay calling a cab?"

Clary pursed her lips. "I can call a cab."

* * *

_**Jace**_

Jace looked up at the large spires of what used to be a church, but was now, in fact, a home. The Lightwood home, to be more specific. He'd always wondered at the nickname the family had for it—the Institute—and the number of bedrooms within its ancient walls, but now he supposed it was a kind of refuge home for any misplaced Idrisians, exiled from their home country. The wrought iron gate and brittle stone path were as familiar to him as his own image.

He swallowed his pride and his hesitation and walked up to the door. He rang the doorbell and lifted the giant brass knocker, banging it against the solid oak door. He used to have a key. He'd had a key for seven years, but when he wrote Robert and Maryse of his parents' sudden return from the dead, he'd sent the key back. He'd never received a reply letter, and had thus never tried to write or visit ever again, but Clary's story about Robert's concern was what pushed him to show up at the Institute for the first time in three years.

The door swung open, and in the doorway stood the beauteous Isabelle, the girl he'd adopted as his sister—a girl he'd left and hadn't seen in three years.

"_Jace_," she gasped.

Jace swallowed. "Hey, Iz."

Narrowing her eyes, she slammed the door, leaving him blinking in confusion at the solid oak before him. Sighing unhappily, he lifted the brass knocker one more time and knocked it against the door.

To his surprise, it swung open again.

Her jet black hair was piled on top of her head in a sort of bun, like that of a ballerina's, and small tendrils escaped, hanging down her neck. She wore tight, black yoga pants and an equally tight, cotton purple shirt. Her feet were bare, and her dark eyes, which had been wide a moment ago, now squinted in a glare. "Where the _hell _have you been?"

Jace stuck his hands in his pockets sheepishly. "I…It's a really, really long story, that I don't quite know all the details of, yet."

Isabelle shook her head and motioned for him to come inside. As soon as he did, she shut the door behind them, strode up to him, and smacked him in the back of the head.

Jace yelped. "What the hell was that for?" he asked, rubbing the back of his head in resentment.

Isabelle's glare could have withered a Venus fly trap. "For not at least writing to us to tell us you were okay." After another moment of glaring, she launched herself at him and wrapped her arms tightly around his neck.

Jace stepped back in surprise, but almost immediately returned the hug. It felt good to be in the arms of someone familiar—someone whose company he could enjoy in an unromantic, non-sexual way. There were very, very few people in the world he could enjoy in such a way, and Isabelle was one of them. He tightened his arms around her waist and let his cheek rest against her hair. "I'm sorry," he murmured. "I really am. I should have written or something. I just…I wrote Robert and Maryse about a year ago…I thought they would have told you."

Isabelle let her arms fall and she stepped away from him, turning to go to the gilded, cage-like elevator that would take them to the rest of the house. "Yeah, well, they didn't. Your key suddenly appeared back on its ring in the kitchen, and Max thought you were finally home. He ran to your bedroom to find it empty, of course." She looked back up at him, her eyes narrowing. "He didn't come out of his room for the rest of the day."

Jace looked away from her as they stepped into the elevator.

"Just be prepared," she continued. "Alec is probably going to hit you."

"You hit me."

"I did," she said, bouncing up on the balls of her feet in satisfaction. "But Alec will hit you harder."

Jace said nothing. He couldn't explain to his adoptive siblings that he couldn't write them a letter or send them a text or anything, even if he'd wanted to. His parents had strictly forbidden it, though why, he didn't know. He still wasn't sure, but he suspected it might have had something to do with the fact that Robert now seemed to work for the Clave, which Jace knew he hadn't before. And if Robert was with the Clave, then Robert would have found out sooner or later about Jace's heritage. He would have notified the Clave of Jace's existence and survival.

The Herondales hadn't wanted that, of course, though Jace didn't see how it helped. He still ended up in the hands of the Clave. He was still destined to ascend the throne of Idris, no matter how much he did or didn't want it.

The elevator rattled to a stop and Isabelle yanked the doors open, waiting for Jace to walk out into the hallway before she came up behind him. "Alec and Max are in the library. Alec and I were trying to help Max with his Pre-Algebra, but the doorbell rang, so I let Alec take over."

"How kind of you," Jace muttered, inspecting the walls and the carpet. They looked exactly the same as they had three years prior—ancient and withering, but somehow sticking together and not falling apart.

And meticulously cleaned, no doubt by Maryse's command.

"I know," Isabelle replied, bouncing as she walked. "I'm so thoughtful."

She stopped in front of the library doors, her back against the handles and regarded Jace with a sharp gaze. "You know this means you can never, ever walk out of our lives again, don't you? Not after you left for three years and showed up again, unannounced.

Jace nodded. "I know. I…I can't leave, anyway. Not even if I wanted to. Not that I want to, it's just…I don't have much of a choice."

Isabelle frowned. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"I'll tell you later."

Isabelle shot him a suspicious glance, though it turned to a look of inquiry. "You ready?"

Jace nodded. "Let's go."

* * *

_**I would like to deeply apologize for the tardiness of this chapter. I recently started work at a water park, at which I am a lifeguard, and said job has been taking all of my time. That being said, you will get another chapter this weekend.**_


	7. Hurry Men!

"Come on, Alec," Jace said, wincing at the desperation in his own voice. "It's not like I had much of a choice."

"Oh, you had a choice," Alec mumbled from his armchair in the corner. After glaring at Jace through the entire half an hour it took for him to explain his story, Alec had stood up wordlessly and folded himself into the chair. He hadn't spoken a word since Jace walked into the room. "I think it's clear that you had a choice."

Jace's hand tightened spastically in Max's hair, which he'd been stroking after the now twelve year old had abandoned all feelings of maturity and curled up in Jace's lap. "And what choice was that?"

"You wrote Mom and Dad a letter! You couldn't have bothered to write one to us?"

"I told you," Jace replied, clenching his jaw, "I wrote it to all of you. It's not my fault Maryse and Robert decided not to share it with you."

Alec rolled his eyes. "You know Mom and Dad enough, Jace. You knew they wouldn't share that information with us."

Jace was silent.

Alec craned his head to look at Jace. "Admit it. You wanted to sulk on your own about what happened to you without anyone holding you accountable for it. You knew Mom and Dad would dismiss the information as soon as they got it, and you knew that if we found out, we'd come looking for you and try to set you straight. You did what you always do: You avoided help because you thought you could take care of yourself. You're proud. And you didn't want to admit that you were hurting inside."

"Alec…" Isabelle said softly, her voice almost warning.

Alec locked eyes with Jace. "Admit it."

Jace looked down at Max, who had fallen asleep during his story.

Alec sighed. "You can't do that ever again, Jace."

"I won't," Jace mumbled.

"I'm serious. Isabelle tried to get the police to go out searching for you."

"Thanks, Isabelle."

Isabelle brightened. "Don't mention it. Though my plan didn't work, because they came to the house to talk to Mom and Dad, and Mom and Dad just dismissed them."

Alec sat up in the chair so he was facing his siblings and began picking at the hem of his already worn through t-shirt. "I'm glad you came back…at least for a visit…but I know you. And I know you have a reason for being here."

"Yeah, you said you'd tell us," Isabelle chimed in, folding her legs under her.

Jace bit his lip. "I hope you're ready for the most ridiculous sounding story you've ever heard in your entire life."

* * *

"It actually kind of makes sense," Isabelle said, stretching her arms up behind her head. "I mean, it explains where Dad's been disappearing to for the past few months. I thought he was—"

"Isabelle," Alec cut in quickly, shooting her a glare.

Isabelle shrugged. "Well. It explains why Mom wasn't suspicious about his disappearing ever other night."

Alec sighed and passed a hand over his face. "It also explains why Mom and Dad always tell me and Izzy that we were born somewhere between Germany, France, and Switzerland. Which never made sense to me."

"I can't believe you guys actually believe me," Jace said, shaking his head.

"You've never lied to us before," Isabelle stated. "Why would you be lying now?"

"What I'm having a hard time believing is that your parents just told you one day 'You have to marry this girl and rule this country that you've never heard of with her' and you just accepted it," Alec said, pursing his lips.

"The threat of death was pretty motivational."

Isabelle's eyes widened. "They threatened to kill you?"

"Well, specifically they said that if we refuse to comply, they'll hand us over to the Downworlders, and I highly doubt the Downworlders will keep us alive for very long if they get their hands on us." Jace grimaced.

"That's quite a choice," Alec mused.

"That's not a choice at all," Isabelle shot back.

"Exactly."

"When do we get to meet Clary?" Max, who had woken up halfway through Jace's story and demanded Jace go back to the beginning just for him, asked.

Jace shrugged. "Whenever you want, I guess. It might be nice for you to meet the 5'2" redhead who will determine how you live the rest of your life."

Max raised his eyebrows. "She's shorter than _me_!"

Isabelle snorted. "By an inch."

"An inch and a _half_," Max shot back, frowning at his dismissive elder sister.

Isabelle waved her hand in the air. "Come talk to me when you're taller than me."

* * *

Jace slipped his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket and leaned against one of the streetlamps as the sun set behind the towers of Manhattan. He'd just parted ways with his adoptive siblings, with promises to visit at least once a week—and to bring Clary with him. He felt good. He felt better than he had in a very, very long time. Almost like he'd been living with an oppressive cloud over his head for the last few years and now that he'd cleared the air with his family, the cloud had evaporated.

Maybe he could do this. Maybe he could marry Clary. Plenty of people used to be partners in arranged marriages, and so many of them married first and found love later. Granted, plenty of those people never found love. But if the whole idea of the prophetic book that foretold his and Clary's births and marriage was, in fact, true (and Jace doubted its legitimacy), then they were matched for a reason. Marriage wasn't ever in his plan, anyway. He'd never thought about having a wife, or a girlfriend, for that matter. The arrangement wasn't hurting him as much as it was hurting Clary, who was already in a relationship when told she would have to marry Jace.

Though, Jace couldn't help but think to himself that maybe it was better she marry him instead of her boyfriend.

Blowing a sigh through his teeth, Jace pulled out his phone and called the farmhouse.

Luke picked up. "Hello?"

"It's Jace. I was just wondering if Clary needed anything before I headed back to the house."

There was a pause on the other end of the line. "I thought Clary was with you."

Jace frowned. "She told me she was taking a cab home after lunch…She's not there?"

"Not unless she climbed into her room from her window. Which I doubt. She doesn't like heights."

"Hold on," Jace sighed. "I'll call her and see where she is. I'll call you back."

Jace hung up and dialed Clary's cell phone number. It didn't even ring once.

'_Hi! This is Clary Fray, but you probably already know that, because you called me. Unless you called the wrong number, in which case you've probably already hung up by now. Anyway. I, for whatever reason, cannot pick up my phone right now. So leave a message and I'll call you back if I remember!'_

Jace tried calling her five more times before he gave up and called Luke again.

"She's not picking up."

Luke was silent. "Why did you leave her by herself?"

Jace could hear the panic creeping into Luke's voice, which made his own heart begin beating faster. "I—Something came up. I asked her if she'd be all right on her own and she said she'd just grab a cab. I saw her get into the car, I thought she would go straight home."

"What did you guys talk about at lunch?" Luke queried.

Jace heard a door shut in the background, Jocelyn's voice following soon after. "I…I don't know. We were talking about what's going on in Idris, about how we were probably going to be heavily guarded and protected. And then she said something about Robert Lightwood and I—"

"Robert Lightwood? How do you know Robert Lightwood?"

Jace sighed. "He's my adopted father, but that's not the point. She told me Alec and Max were asking questions so…I mean, I just got back from the Institute. I went to go visit them. She should have been home three hours ago."

"Hold on, Jace."

Jace closed his eyes and leaned his head back on the light pole, trying to ignore the kick of panicked adrenaline that set his heart racing and his head pounding. He heard Luke talking to Jocelyn in the background, saying something about getting Stephen and Celine to help, start calling the Council and people they knew in Manhattan to start looking for Clary.

"All right. Where do you think she could be?" Luke asked once he finished telling Jocelyn exactly what happened—a story that would no doubt make her want to end Jace's life.

"I don't know." Jace bit his lip and passed a hand over his face. "I haven't known her long enough to—"

"Jace?"

Jace had straightened up as a thought ran through his mind. "Sebastian."

"Sebastian? Why—"

Jace ran to the curb, still on the phone with Luke as he flagged down a cab. "Sebastian. I knew. She seemed overwhelmed earlier at lunch. She doesn't want this, Luke. And the only person who might think it better for her to run away from this entire ordeal than to stay and deal with it, would be Sebastian. She ran to him, I'll bet you."

On the other end of the line, Jace heard the garage door of the farmhouse slam and a car door open. "Do you know where he lives?" Luke asked as he started his car.

"I do." Jace didn't even bother to buckle himself in as he gave the driver the address to Sebastian's apartment. "His parents gave him an apartment when he was sixteen because they thought he needed more independence. I've been to a few parties there."

"Okay. I need you to call your adoptive family and tell them where you are and what you're doing. Tell Robert and Maryse to follow up behind you. Even if they get to his apartment after you, they might be five minutes behind you. Jocelyn and I are going as fast as we can and we'll be there as soon as possible."

"Got it."

"Jace."

"What?"

"How many encounters have you had with Sebastian?"

Jace almost laughed. "A lot. Trust me. I'm not an idiot. I've…I still have the scars from one of our encounters."

Luke was silent for another moment. "We'll be waiting outside his door if anything goes wrong."

* * *

_**Hi guys! I don't think I realized how draining being a lifeguard is. I know I said I'd update that weekend, but…unfortunately that didn't happen. I am working on a chapter for Forbidden, however, as we speak. So look for that! But see? I promised I'd never delete this story again. I'm going to keep that promise.**_

_**I'm actually really looking forward to writing the next chapter! What do you guys think is going to happen?**_


	8. Not an Hour to Lose

_**All right. I've got my peppermint mocha. I've got Frank Sinatra playing. It's raining outside. And school is finally (thank GOD) over. Let's do this. I apologize if I'm a bit rusty.**_

* * *

"I don't know, Seb," Clary said, glancing down at her hand as she ran it across his bare chest. "I mean, I know I came here to escape, but…It was supposed to be temporary."

"But think about it," he replied, staring up at the ceiling. "You wouldn't ever have to deal with this situation ever again. I know somewhere where they won't ever find you."

"I'd have to leave my parents, Seb. I don't…I don't know if I could do that."

Sebastian paused, not without some exasperation. "Are your parents really all that's stopping you? Or is it something else?"

Clary bit her lip and shifted beneath the bedsheets. "It's just my parents, really. I mean, if we could take my parents with us, I'd be on board 100%."

"We can't." Sebastian said firmly, intoning that no more discussion was welcome on that particular matter. He moved his arm out from underneath her and sat up, stretching. "But really, Clary, what do you owe them? They lied to you for over 20 years. And you want to stay here and let them and their silly little secret government take control of your life? Tell you who to marry? Where to live? What to do?"

Clary pulled the sheets up under her arms and sat up, watching as he rummaged through his chest of drawers for a pair of underwear and some sweatpants. "It's not that easy. They lied, yeah…But I mean, they did raise me. And they've always been there for me, no matter what. I can't discount that."

"I would," Sebastian said quickly. "You're an adult anyway, Clare. You're on your own, you practically support yourself. You're not even legally tied to them."

Clary hesitated. While this was true, she would feel incredibly guilty if she just ran away from her parents and let them deal with the entire thing themselves. On the other hand…if she just disappeared, her parents wouldn't have to deal with the Law, because they wouldn't have had any control over what happened to her. The Clave wouldn't be able to hold her parents or Jace and his parents responsible if they had no idea where she'd gone.

Sebastian noticed her hesitation and took her hands gently in his, pulling her up from the bed and wrapping her in his arms. "It's the easiest way," he cooed. He pulled away from her and looked into her eyes, his own so full of sincerity that she couldn't help but be swayed by them. "It'll be hard, but we'll have each other. It's the only way everyone can be happy and return to their lives again. Don't you see that?"

Clary nodded and leaned her head against his chest. "Just let me get dressed," she breathed. "I can't exactly leave your apartment like this."

"Why not?" he asked, pinching her left butt cheek as she unwrapped herself from his embrace.

Clary jumped and giggled. "It would be incredibly inappropriate," she said, flushing. "Also, I'd be embarrassed."

Sebastian shrugged, pulling on a t-shirt and ducking out of the room. "Suit yourself."

* * *

Clary finished buttoning Sebastian's dark green flannel and grabbed her small overnight bag and Sebastian's car keys. "I'm going to wait in the car!" she called to him, pulling the apartment door open and stepping into the hallway.

"Going somewhere?"

Clary froze, nearly dropping the keys. Instead, her fingers curled into a fist around them, and she could feel the metal teeth biting into her palms. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Jace stood in the middle of the hallway, his arms folded across his chest, his golden eyes ablaze with what looked to her like anger. His golden blond hair was wet and curled at the ends, plastered to his forehead and neck with—what was that, sweat? Water? His skin was wet too, whether with rain or sweat, she couldn't tell. Either way, he'd worked hard to get there. "No." He stepped forward. "The question is, what the hell are _you_ doing here, Clarissa?"

Apprehension gave way to anger in her chest and she clenched her jaw. "_Clarissa? _Really? What are you, my mother?"

Jace's expression didn't change at all. Any affect her words had on him were not visible to her. "You didn't answer my question."

"I don't have to answer your question." Clary felt like a stubborn five year old, but she stood her ground. "It's none of your business what I'm doing here."

"It is actually," Jace said. "Unfortunately. Or have you forgotten, dear, lovely, future _wife_?"

Clary winced and took a step back. "I'm not going to be your wife. There's nothing you or the Clave can do about that if you can't find me."

"And who do you propose running away with? Sebastian?" Jace's eyebrows furrowed infinitesimally, but Clary caught it. "Clary—"

"Yes, actually."

Clary whirled around to find her boyfriend leaning against the doorframe of the apartment, a backpack on his shoulder, his hands in his pockets. His black eyes were alert, in a way Clary had never seen them before.

"Jonathan Herondale," he said slowly, poisonously. "Come to take what's mine? Again?"

Jace's eyes flashed with anger. "Again? May I remind you of the last time we encountered each other?"

"You tried to take my girlfriend away from me," Sebastian said coolly. "I remember giving you a gift in return. Still have it?"

"What?" Clary couldn't help but utter the one confused, slightly terrified word.

After a moment's hesitation, Jace lifted the side of his grey t-shirt to reveal two long, deep scars. Clary couldn't help but suck in her breath as he dropped his t-shirt back into place.

Sebastian laughed without mirth. "That's what happens when you convince my girlfriend I was cheating on her."

"You _were_ cheating on her," Jace said angrily. "And she was my _sister_. You can't possibly expect me to just let that go."

Clary looked at Sebastian in disbelief. "You cheated on your ex-girlfriend? And you—what, stabbed him? With a _knife_?!"

Sebastian kept his gaze locked with Jace's. "No, I didn't. But your _betrothed _here thinks that I did, when in reality, I had already broken up with beauteous Isabelle when I started…hooking up with Bailey. Your sister lied to you, friend."

"And the scars?" Clary demanded.

"He attacked me, Clary. What was I supposed to do? Let him beat me up? No. I defended myself."

Clary looked hesitant.

"Either way," Jace said, his jaw still clenched. "You can't take her. She has to come back with me."

Sebastian unhitched himself from the doorframe. "Why don't you let her make her own decisions? She doesn't want to go back with you. She doesn't _like _you, Herondale."

"It doesn't matter what her feelings towards me are or aren't. Even if you guys manage to disappear, you'll be on the run for the rest of your life, because the Clave is always going to be looking for her. I'm sure she's told you everything, so don't look at me like you don't know what the Clave is."

Sebastian dropped his backpack to the ground. "Go wait for me in the car, Clary."

Jace slipped his hand into his pocket, fiddling with something. "I wouldn't do that if I were you, Clary."

Clary didn't run to the car, but she did back against the wall. The look in the boys' eyes was ravenous, as if they were hungry to attack each other. She'd never seen that look in Sebastian's eyes and she couldn't say it comforted her.

"You aren't getting past me, Verlac," Jace said. "So don't try it."

Sebastian grinned and pulled his hand out of his pocket, brandishing an odd looking knife. "I think I might, little angel boy."

Jace frowned in confusion. "Little—"

He didn't have time to finish his sentence because Sebastian, with blinding speed, had somehow propelled himself off the door, plowing into Jace and pinning him to the ground. Clary screamed as she heard Jace's head slam against the floor.

He blinked rapidly, as through water were falling in his eyes. Sebastian plunged the carved knife toward his throat, but Jace was faster. He wrapped his fingers around Sebastian's wrist, fighting to keep the knife away from his throat.

"Sebastian, stop!" Clary cried out, horrified.

"Shut _up_, Clary," Sebastian replied through gritted teeth.

Tearing herself from the wall, Clary ran to the elevators and pressed the buttons, praying to no one in particular that the elevator came fast, and that maybe she could run to the police station, and they could get here before something really bad—

The doors open and Clary slammed straight into her parents. She stumbled back in disbelief, blinking incredulously at Luke, who looked armed to the teeth, and her mother, who was brandishing a glowing instrument she'd never seen before.

"Where are they?" Luke asked, his voice harder than she'd ever heard it.

Trying to ignore the way her knees were shaking, she pointed down the hall. Jocelyn stayed with her as Luke ran down the hall, gripping his knife harder.

"Is he going to kill them?" Clary whispered, realizing suddenly that her mother had wrapped her arms around her.

"No," Jocelyn said firmly. "Not Jace, at least. And he won't kill Sebastian unless Sebastian really tries to kill him first."

"I didn't mean—"

"I know." Jocelyn's dark eyes softened a bit. "But from now on, Clary, you have to listen to us when we tell you these things. Do you understand? You're in a lot more danger than you think you are. We know nothing about Sebastian—"

"He had a knife like Luke's. And he called Jace 'little angel boy.'"

Jocelyn frowned. "Well then. Let's hope that Luke can knock him out so we can bring him in for—"

At that precise moment, the elevator doors opened once again, and at least 10 men clad in all black, all brandishing the same weird knives Sebastian and Luke had been wielding. Jocelyn dropped her arms, grabbed onto one of Clary's hands, and motioned for them to follow her. "They're down here."

Clary and Jocelyn and the pack of weird men moved quickly down the hall to where the brawl was still taking place.

Clary pressed herself against the wall and watched, as if from a distance, as the men assisted Luke in pinning Sebastian's arms behind him. The words "You are under arrest and jurisdiction of the Clave, the sovereign government of Idris. Know that anything you say or do from here on out may be used by the Inquisitor to incriminate or liberate you. You have threatened both heirs of Idris, an offense punishable by death. You will be prosecuted and your fate will be determined by the Council in no less than three months, and no more than three years."

She watched as Luke bent down to touch an unconscious Jace on his temples, take out that weird, glowing instrument she'd seen her mother with, and burn something into his bare arm. The mark seemed to light up and then sink into his arm.

"That will help," Luke murmured to Jocelyn, "but we should get him to the hospital. He probably has a concussion."

Jocelyn nodded. "We should get Clary checked out, too."

Clary wanted to protest, to say that she was fine, but her mouth wouldn't work. Her mother took her hand and led her gently out of the building.

* * *

Luke was right. In addition to some minor cuts and bruises, Jace also had a minor concussion, and was being told by various nurses and doctors to stay in bed for three days (which seemed a bit excessive to him). He supposed, though, that the length of his hospital stay was a side effect of being the heir to the throne of Idris.

He'd just settled back against his pillows and closed his eyes in an attempt to take a nap and block out the throbbing pain in the back of his head, when the door of his room opened. His eyes snapped back open—though they took a moment to focus—and settled on a small, timid Clary. Jace watched in silence as she moved hesitantly across the room to sit at the chair next to his bed, her gaze in her lap, her fingers fiddling with each other nervously. "I'm really sorry," she practically whispered.

Anger warred with pity in his chest. "Why don't you ever listen to anything anybody ever tells you?" he snapped. "You're so goddamn stubborn."

Clary winced. "I know. I'm sorry."

"I mean, Sebastian Verlac? Really, Clary?"

"I'm sorry," she insisted.

"He's a snake, Clary. He's a liar, a cheater, and he's incredibly violent. And shady. I can't believe you would even trust him, considering his past history with girls."

Clary's head snapped up, and he saw that he may have pushed her just a little bit too far. "I'm sorry, okay? What else do you want me to say, Jace? I can't _do _anything else."

Jace bit his lip.

"My now-ex-boyfriend is in the custody of a government I didn't know existed until a few days ago, he's apparently been lying to me about who he is, because I promise you, I had no idea that he'd done any of that stuff. I didn't know he dated your sister. I didn't know he cheated on her, and I believe you about that, so don't say anything. Don't gloat, I don't know if I can take it right now. I didn't know you fought and I didn't know he gave you those horrific stab wounds. I didn't know that there were these men protecting us with these weird weapons that apparently Sebastian had knowledge of. I feel used. Okay? You happy?"

The pity won. Jace ran his fingers through his hair. "No. Of course not." He sighed. "It's not about being right, Clary. I'm sorry about that. I am. I'm not angry…at least, not with you. It's just…You scared me, and all of us. I thought…I didn't know what Sebastian was going to do."

Clary's fiery eyes softened. "I know. And I'm really sorry. I just…this whole situation…"

"I know."

There was a pause in the conversation, during which they simply watched one another. Clary's heart felt like it had cracked open, and Jace's eyes looked like they could fill it up. Like they could patch each other up somehow. But before she could do something really stupid, like lean in and kiss him for no reason—

There was a knock on the door.

They jerked away from each other, blinking as if they'd just woken up.

"Come in," Jace called, his voice a little hoarse.

The door opened to reveal a tall, peppery-haired woman in a studious gray robe. She seemed to float through the door, a thick tablet in one hand and a ball point pen in the other. "I apologize for disturbing you," she said, her voice rather severe. "My name is Imogen Herondale. I'm the Inquisitor."

* * *

_**Annnnnnd that's it! Look for the next chapter on Christmas Eve! And watch later tonight for the next chapter of Forbidden! Please don't forget to review! You guys influence this story more than you think :) Also: Yes, they had sex. Clary and Sebastian. Feel free to rant ;)**_


	9. Take Your Blanket

_**Happy Christmas Eve, my dear friends!**_

* * *

Jace frowned. "Herondale?"

The Inquisitor swallowed nervously. "Ah…Yes…I'm your grandmother, Jonathan."

Jace paled a little but didn't say anything.

"But more on that later," she said, pulling a thick book out from under her robes…somewhere. Where she'd managed to hide that thing, Clary had absolutely no idea, but she wasn't about to ask. The Inquisitor looked intimidating enough.

"I'm just here to ask you a few questions," Imogen said, pulling a chair to the foot of Jace's hospital bed and opening the book on her lap. "The better you cooperate with us, the easier it will be for us to figure out exactly what happened."

Jace and Clary both nodded silently.

"All right. Clary, we'll start with you. When did you meet Sebastian?"

"My first year of college." Clary bit her lip, her mind bringing memories to her in rapid succession. She swallowed. "He was my orientation mentor."

Imogen seemed to squint at her a bit, as if she thought Clary were lying. "And you'd never seen him before? Didn't hear of him, or his past, rather violent, history?"

Clary shook her head. "He was very kind to me in our orientation group. He kept asking me if I wanted to go to these upperclassmen parties. He got me a lot sorority invites. I didn't take any of them…I'm not really a sorority girl. But he seemed very invested in how I got on at school. Always walking me to class, asking me to lunch with him…stuff like that."

Imogen was writing furiously in the thick book. A few papers looked like they were going to fall onto the floor, names Clary had never heard of gracing the tops of them. _Jessamine Lovelace. Gerald Nightraven. Bella Threshsong. William Herondale. _Clary wondered if Jace was related to William Herondale…whoever that was.

"Did he ever ask you to run away with him before the other night?" Imogen asked, her gaze still focused on her book.

Clary bit her lip. "Um…No, not seriously. He'd joke about running off into the sunset or whatever together, but…no."

"Has he ever threatened you before, or spoken harshly to you?"

"No." Clary folded her hands in her lap, glancing sideways at Jace, who seemed to be getting angrier with every question she answered. "That's why I was in shock…He was never, ever violent or cruel. He was one of the nicest people I knew. I'd never seen him in that way."

"All right, Clary." Imogen rubbed her hands together. "I have one more question. Had you ever seen him with that knife before? Did you recognize any of those carvings?"

Clary shook her head. "I'd never seen those carvings before the…confrontation."

"Very well." Imogen pressed her lips together and flipped to a new page. "Jonathan, you've known Sebastian longer, am I correct?"

Jace, looking mildly uncomfortable that she'd called him Jonathan, nodded. "I grew up with him."

"And this was not your first altercation with him?"

"No, it wasn't." Jace's hand went to his side, where Clary remembered his scars were. "He dated my—he dated Isabelle Lightwood, who I…who is like my sister. And then I caught him having sex with another girl in some sleazy parking lot while he was on his way to pick Isabelle up for dinner. I told Isabelle, who dumped him immediately, of course.

Then, one night, we ended up at the same party. We'd both been…drinking. Underage, admittedly. We were in high school. But I got really angry and punched him. He pulled a knife on me, managed to get a couple stabs in the left side of my abdomen. I wrestled the knife from him and accidentally gave him a wound in the leg and that's when the police decided to show up. I served two years of probation because of that bastard."

Clary couldn't help but stare at Jace. Before Sebastian's attack, she wouldn't have believed Jace. She would have thought he was lying, or delusional, or something. But now…She'd been in a serious relationship with a man who wasn't at all who she thought he was. She shifted uncomfortably, the soreness in her pelvic area reminding her of what she'd given to Sebastian mere hours before he'd accosted Jace and shouted at her.

There wasn't anything she regretted more.

Imogen continued writing furiously. "And did you recognize any of the carvings on his knife?"

"Only one."

Clary looked at Jace in surprise. "You recognized one of those marks?"

Jace glanced at her and nodded.

"Which one?" Imogen asked, genuine curiosity lacing her voice.

"I recognized the Mark that means fireproof."

Imogen frowned. "Interesting. And how did you know that that particular rune meant 'fireproof'?"

Jace shrugged. "I…I lived with Robert and Maryse Lightwood for a time. When I was on probation, I ran away from home to try and avoid my probation officer, and the Lightwoods took me in. Robert and Maryse had brought their children up to be knowledgeable of the Shadow World, I guess. But they didn't think I was…of their blood. So they rarely spoke of it around me. But I saw the mark on the floor in front of their fireplace and I asked what it meant, and Robert told me it was a protection. It mean fireproof. I thought it was kind of weird, so I never forgot about it."

Imogen nodded, and with a dramatic flourish of her pen, finished whatever she was writing down. "Right. Well. This should certainly…help." She stood and replaced the chair, moving toward the door. She hesitated and turned. "Jace…I'm so sorry I wasn't in your life."

"It wasn't your fault," Jace mumbled, looking suddenly interested in his bedsheets.

"No," Imogen agreed. "But…Part of it is because your father and I had been fighting for about ten months before you were born. I…I didn't even know your mother was pregnant with you, because I refused to speak to your father. It was a ridiculous reason and…I may have been able to stop all of this, or at least been involved in your life. I didn't—" Imogen swallowed hard. "I found out that I had a grandson when the Consul came to me while I was in Prague and said 'The Herondale boy and Morgenstern girl are alive!' I was in shock…I didn't even know a Herondale boy existed. So…For that, I'm sorry."

Jace simply nodded.

* * *

"You had sex with him, didn't you?"

Clary bolted upright in the chair, nearly dropping the blanket she'd been trying to curl up under. "I don't see how it's any of your business, but yes."

Jace rolled his eyes. "Do you understand how irresponsible—"

"No." Clary sat up, her gaze hardening. "You, of all people, do not get to lecture me on whomever I choose to have sex with. I know for a fact that the first thing you did after you found out that you had to marry me was take off and have sex with some slutty, probably STD-ridden diner waitress. I'm not an idiot, Jace, I know your type."

Jace raised an eyebrow. "My type? And what, exactly, is my type?"

"The type for whom sex means nothing. You don't care about the girls you have sex with. They might as well be toys—"

"They are toys," Jace mused. "They know that."

"Do they though?" Clary folded her arms. "Because I know girls. And I know that, while some girls may use guys in very much the same way, a girl will give her body to a guy that she has real feelings for because she thinks that having sex with them will eventually make him fall in love with her. Or, she thinks that having sex with him is better than not interacting at all. You might want to be careful with who you hook up with from now on."

"Sebastian, though? Really?"

Clary glared at him. "You heard what I told the Inquisitor. He was really nice to me. So shut up."

Jace made a face, but said nothing.

Clary sighed in defeat and leaned back in her chair. "Can we just…since this thing seems to be so important to everyone…can we just agree not to have…intimate relations with anyone else? At least until everything settles down?"

A smirk spread across Jace's lips. "Sure. We can avoid 'intimate relations' with other people. Can I have 'intimate relations' with you? Do you count as other people?"

Clary wrinkled her nose. "Don't be gross."

"You know we're going to have to eventually. And you're probably going to have to have a child."

Clary buried herself under the blanket. "Don't remind me."

* * *

_**Tis short, but hey, two updates in one week, especially around the holidays, is pretty awesome. Right? Eh.**_

_**I hope you all have a Merry Christmas tomorrow!**_


	10. Take Your Son

Axel Mortmain strode down the lightless corridors of the Hall of Glass, his hands clenched into his fists, his jaw locked in anger. Fifty or so various Downworlders (and shape-shifting demons, probably) followed him closely, whispering amongst each other and spreading the news like fire:

The heirs to the throne of Idris were alive and they were amassing an army of Shadowhunters to take the country back.

"LUCIUS!" Mortmain thundered, barging into the dim library.

A crotchety looking old man straightened up and jumped back from the book he was poring over, nearly dropping his glasses. "Y-yes, Magister?"

"Why, pray tell, did I find out from a seventeen-year old werewolf that the heirs of Idris were _alive, _instead of from you?"

Lucius blinked his beady eyes in rapid succession. "Th-they're alive? That can't be, Magister, I…I saw their bodies buried with my own two eyes?"

"Did you see their _bodies _or their _coffins_?"

"W-well, they're coffins, of course…they were such small coffins…they were just little things, then…" Lucius swallowed hard and looked back up at Mortmain, whose eyes looked incendiary. "I…truly, I didn't know!"

Mortmain leaned over until his nose almost touched Lucius's. Lucius made a noise in the back of his throat and looked away. "I suggest you find them, soon. I want to know where they live by sunset. Is that understood?"

Lucius nodded. "Y-yes."

"You're going to watch their bodies burn to the ground this time."

* * *

Jace watched Clary snore in the arm chair, not without amusement. The blanket she'd dragged off his bed was hanging off her foot and her head was tilted back, her orange curls spilling over the side of the chair. Groaning, he stood up and adjusted her blanket, draping it over her shoulders and then almost immediately wondering why he did it.

He collapsed back into his bed, his wound screaming in pain. He wiped the sweat from his forehead and continued to wonder what motivated him to execute such an…affectionate gesture. He should hate her. He knew the entire mess they were in wasn't precisely her fault, but the kind of girl to date Sebastian Verlac should be the kind of girl he hated.

Not the kind of girl he wanted to…

Jace shook his head, as if trying to rid himself of his train of thought. He was in a hospital gown and Clary had stolen his only blanket. He didn't need to travel down that road.

Why would she date Sebastian?

Of all the people, why would she choose _him?_

She was beautiful in that unconventional way that the girls of fabled love stories always were. Her face was interesting and her personality was layered and complex. She could have had any guy she wanted, and she chose Sebastian Verlac.

Though, he supposed bitterly, Sebastian was probably considered the cream of the crop by those who didn't view him as an enemy. In other words, by everybody except Jace. People encouraged Sebastian's violence. They encouraged his tendency to fight. He was skilled at it and he was sneaky about it. Other boys envied his ability to mess someone up and never, ever get caught.

It's how Jace ended up behind bars and Sebastian didn't.

Somehow, that asshole never got caught.

A wave of jealousy rushed up in Jace's chest, startling him.

An emotion he'd only felt once or twice before.

He'd never needed to be jealous. He always had whatever he wanted…

He didn't know why he felt jealous. He had Clary. Clary was his, that much was a fact, and that much was something he knew they were never going to escape. But Sebastian…Clary _picked _Sebastian. Clary was being forced to be with Jace.

Jace blinked, startled at his own mind. _What the hell?_ he thought. _You didn't want to be with Clary, either. You loathed her. What happened?_

He looked over at Clary, who had moved her neck to a more comfortable and less strenuous position, and had ceased to snore. The way she was folded reminded him of a painting he'd seen once at a school art show. It was a painting of a red-headed fire faerie, curled up on a log, her freckled eyes shut peacefully as she cupped what looked like a glowing lump of coal in her pale palms.

_The Florence Nightingale effect. That's what happened._

* * *

Clary watched Jace as he slept in the hospital bed, and for the third time in the last week, she felt something she didn't want to recognize. She felt her heart and her mind softening toward him. Her mindset, combined with her undeniable attraction to him, was mixing into something she didn't want. She wanted to escape. She wanted to leave everything behind and never see him again. It was that or admit to the Clave and to her parents and to Jace and to Jace's parents…

She took a deep breath.

Maybe they were right in pairing the two of them together. Maybe their…prophecy thing wasn't so stupid and silly after all.

Clary shifted so that the blanket she'd stolen from him fell off her shoulders. Careful not to wake him, she draped it over his body, worried that he'd been uncomfortable as he fell asleep because of her thievery. Unable to help herself, she reached a hand up and brushed his messy golden hair out of his eyes. She wondered what secrets he kept locked up beneath them.

His hair was so soft, and it felt like silk between her fingers. She sat gingerly on the bed, scratching his head affectionately and enjoying herself more than she would have liked to admit. Remembering where she was and the fact that anyone could walk through the door at any moment, Clary pulled her hand back and made to return to her chair.

"Why'd you stop?"

Clary froze and turned to Jace. His eyes were still closed, but he peeked one open and looked at her. "That felt…That felt really good."

Clary swallowed and blushed. "I was kind of hoping you were asleep. I-I wouldn't have done it if—"

"I know. I woke up when you returned the blanket," he said sleepily, "but then…Well. I know you wouldn't have done anything if I was awake. So. I stayed asleep."

With her heart in her throat, Clary returned to his bed. She started running her fingers through his hair again, his small smile not escaping her notice. "I…I'm sorry. I'm sorry I've been so dramatic."

Jace laughed. "You dramatic? I found out and ran away like a child. Unlike a child, I thought having sex with another girl might make me feel better."

"It didn't."

"No, it didn't."

Clary bit her lip. "I basically did the same thing. Maybe even worse."

"I don't blame you," Jace mumbled. "How long have you been in a relationship with…him?"

"Six years."

Jace's eyes flew open. "And you _just _gave him your virginity? Damn, Red. You're stronger than I thought you were. You must have had him wrapped around your finger."

Clary hesitated. "It…it wasn't my choice."

Jace frowned in confusion.

Clary sighed, her hand stilling. "I wanted to have sex with him after the first six months of our relationship. He kept telling me 'Ok, baby, ok.' But he'd conveniently fall asleep. Or he'd tell me that he didn't want to hurt me, because I was a virgin. Or to think about it some more and make sure that I really wanted to. The only reason I was able to convince him to have sex…well, I told him that you and I were meant to be engaged."

Jace was silent.

Clary could feel the lump of tears welling in the back of her throat. "I guess he didn't want to have sex with me to actually have sex with me. Just to get at you."

Jace clenched his jaw, unable to say any words to comfort her out of fear of saying the wrong thing. And who was he to judge Sebastian for using Clary? How many girls had he used? How many girls had he strung along, knowing that they hoped for something more, when he knew that he'd never ever take it farther than sex?

He promised himself to make up for his errors. He'd make it up with Clary. He'd—

The door to his hospital room burst open and Luke and Jocelyn practically tumbled in, wide eyed.

Clary ripped herself away from Jace as if he'd burned her, flushing deep red. "Hi, Mom," she squeaked. "Hi, Luke."

"Oh Clary," Jocelyn said, looking like she was choking back tears. "Oh Clary, thank God."

Luke stepped out into the hallway and shouted "They're ok! They're both here!"

Stephen and Celine joined Luke and Jocelyn, breathing heavily and looking relieved.

"What's going on?" Jace asked.

Celine wrapped her arms around her son's head and kissed the top of it.

Stephen shut the door and took out a thin, pencil like object, the tip of which glowed. He burned something into the hospital door and also on the handle, unsheathed a knife, and placed a chair in front of the door. "We saw a Downworlder leaving the hospital."

"A Downworlder?" Clary asked in confusion.

"The Downworlders currently hold control of Idris, sweetheart," Jocelyn said, tightening her arms around her daughter. "If we saw a Downworlder, they know where you guys are. And they know you're here."

Luke scribbled something on a piece of paper and threw it out the window. "We need a Portal."

* * *

"Well done, Lucius. Well done."

* * *

**_You are all the most loyal, wonderful readers. Truly. Thank you so much._**

**_I understand that fanfiction said that I updated the story in February, and due to an unfortunate incident, there is now a chapter utterly and completely missing. I have no idea where it went. Fortunately, the story still flows well and no vital information was lost in that chapter. So I am keeping it the way it is. _**

**_Thank you all for your support! Now that my sophomore year of college is over, I am going to try to get into a regular updating schedule. Thank you all so much! I really hope you had as much fun reading this chapter as I had writing it!_**


	11. Report to General Washington

"Have no fear, Magnus Bane is here!"

Clary and Jace wore identical expressions of confusion and apprehension as the tall, glittering man who identified himself as Magnus Bane waltzed into the room, blue sparks flying from his fingers.

Stephen straightened himself up. "Thank you for coming at such a short notice."

"Of course," Magnus practically purred. "Anything to help you Shadowhunters seize your property from my ilk." He winked at Clary, who jumped a bit as she noticed he had cat eyes.

"Magnus is a warlock," Jocelyn explained quietly to Jace and Clary as Magnus began to open the wall. "He's a Downworlder, but he tends to be on our side more often than not. He's building what is called a Portal, and it can take us anywhere that we need to be."

Jace nodded silently, still in his hospital gown, leaning against his father for support.

The hole in the wall expanded to be about Magnus's height, the inside swirling blue and looking far more three dimensional than it had a few minutes prior. He stepped back from it, and with a bow and a flourish of his sparkly hand, said "It's finished. Please go through it quickly so I can close it quickly."

Jocelyn grabbed Clary's hand. Stephen picked Jace up in his arms as if Jace were no older than three. With that, the six of them leapt through the portal, giving themselves to a magic Clary and Jace had never seen before.

They landed in what looked to Clary like an office. A sleek, expensive office, with a lot of screens that showed pictures of places that seemed both familiar and alien to her all at once.

The door burst open and a tall woman, flanked by the Inquisitor and Robert Lightwood, swept into the room. "Hello," the tall, unidentified woman said. "I am Jia Penhallow. I'm the current Consul for the Shadowhunters. It's a pleasure to finally meet the two of you."

Clary nodded and shook the Consul's outstretched hand.

Jace was staring at Robert, his face entirely drained of color.

"Please," Jia said, gesturing to a small sofa near the window. "Jonathan, rest. You are still injured, of course."

Stephen moved Jace to the couch, setting him down as carefully as he might have set a toddler on the floor. A little bit of color returned to Jace's complexion, but his eyes never strayed from Robert.

Robert, on the other hand, Clary noticed, was doing everything in his power not to look at Jace.

"We have many things to discuss," Jia said. "Please, have a seat."

The party moved to the conference table, each of them choosing a chair. Clary situated herself between Luke and her mother, keeping herself in sight of Jace. He'd given in to his pain and laid down on the couch, shutting his eyes and tossing an arm over them.

"We received word that a werewolf was spotted lurking outside the hospital earlier today," the Inquisitor began.

Clary was sure she'd heard wrong. "A _werewolf_?"

The Inquisitor nodded. "Downworlders are comprised of werewolves, vampires, warlocks and faeries. Mythical creatures to the rest of the world. It's why they like to stay in Idris."

"They don't leave the borders of Idris?"

Robert shook his head. "Not unless they have to," he said gruffly. Jace stirred on the couch. "Not unless they want to be slaughtered."

"So why would a werewolf be hanging around a hospital?"

Jia folded her hands carefully. "We've received word recently that Axel Mortmain—the man currently on the throne of Idris—has discovered that you and Jace are alive, and he's furious. He has a small network of Shadowhunters who don't want to see the two of you rise to control, and they assist him as spies. Someone must have informed him that Jace got into a fight with Sebastian and that he was in the hospital. Either way, Mortmain will be hunting you down until he takes his last breath."

"Who would have informed him of Jace's injury?" Stephen asked, frowning.

Jia cut a glance at Clary. "We suspect Sebastian Verlac."

"_Sebastian?_" Clary snorted. "Sebastian may be an—an asshole, but he's not a spy. There's no way."

Jia looked pleadingly at Robert Lightwood.

Robert looked down at his hand, picking at some invisible scar and no doubt choosing his words very carefully. "Sebastian escaped our custody, recently."

"He _what?!_" Jace shot up from the couch and immediately fell back down, the blood draining from his skin. He clutched his wound and winced.

"We believe he had help from another Shadowhunter. There's no other plausible explanation for it," Robert continued, finally looking at his adoptive son.

Jace propped himself against the wall. "So what you're saying is," he breathed, "Sebastian—the asshole who has now tried to kill me _twice—_has been broken out of your custody. And you want me to take one of the most vulnerable jobs any sane person can have, when you can't even keep tabs on _one _criminal?" He laughed bitterly. "At this rate, Clary and I will be assassinated not even a month after we take control. If we even _can _take control."

Jia swallowed hard. "It would be easier for us to maintain control if our entire population was in one place. We could combine our powers."

"I suggest," Jace replied, his golden eyes blazing, "That you figure out how to bring the Shadowhunters together from across the four corners of the earth before you decide to try and unseat Mortmain."

"We—"

"Haven't you ever heard the saying 'A house divided against itself cannot stand?' You have to bring the damn house together before you can make one of your pawns king of it," Jace interrupted.

"That's not quite how chess works, Jonath—"

"I don't really care how it works. You get my point."

Jace's statement was met with silence. It was well made, in Clary's opinion. And they'd wanted a…they'd wanted a king. Jace seemed to fit that profile.

It was Robert who spoke first.

"I think the question now is how can we make sure Clary and Jace are protected to the utmost of our abilities."

* * *

_**Hey guys! Hope you enjoyed this chapter :) **_

**_One quick thing! I published a new story! I would LOVE it if you guys checked it out, and read the AN at the bottom of it, it's SUPER important. It's called Palace of Starlight (cheesy name, I know, bear with me while I figure out a different one). Everyone who reads it and reviews it-honestly reviews it, constructively-and who wants one, will get a preview of the next chapter of Everything and Nothing in their IMs. Just make sure you let me know that you reviewed it, and I'll message you the preview!_**


	12. We've Got Our Rights

_**AN: Heyyyyyy guys! So, I wrote this AN on Forbidden, and I'll write pretty much the same thing now :P Because I love you guys just as much!**_

_**So, the reason I haven't been updating is because I've been super distracted by my own story, The Heir. I'm actually really proud to say that I'm on the verge of the 40,000 word mark, but it got me thinking about you guys.**_

_**I mean, you guys are so awesome. You guys are so loyal, and you still look for these chapters, and you all deserve the world. I owe you everything. You guys are honestly the reason I don't give up writing altogether. Because SOMEONE likes it. Because SOMEONE reviews these chapters every time I post them. And that someone is you. So, from the bottom of my heart…thank you. Enjoy!**_

* * *

"You'd think that we'd be included in the discussion of our safety," Jace growled, slumping down in the armchair of the study that adjoined the conference room.

Clary pursed her lips, but said nothing, choosing instead to stretch out on a long couch.

Jace got up and clasped his hands behind his back. He began to pace the floor, the color draining from him with each step.

Clary cracked an eye open. "You're going to split your stitches."

Jace ignored her.

"Really, you should sit down and rest."

He threw his hands up in the air. "How the hell can you expect me to sit down and rest when your ex-lover is out looking for us? When he and a bunch of other people we had nothing to do with are trying to kill us, and these people—_our _people—can do absolutely nothing about it?"

Clary threw an arm over her eyes. "They're trying," she said wearily. "Just give them a chance."

Jace froze. "I _did _give them a chance!" He gestured wildly to his abdomen. "_This _is what happened when I did that."

Clary gave a groan of frustration as she heaved herself into a sitting position. She clearly wasn't going to get any resting done—not with Jace pacing like a caged animal and complaining with the full force of a toddler. "Our parents kind of destroyed their world, Jace. Because of our parents, their entire race is scattered across the face of the planet."

Jace was silent.

"Give them a chance to regroup. They just found out we exist. They're excited, but they're also very scared, probably. Scared that they won't win, scared that we'll run off or die. They're trying."

Jace narrowed his eyes. "Since when did you switch over to their side?"

Clary gave him a pointed look, batting a curl of bright hair from her eyes. "Will you just sit down? Please? You look like you're going to pass out."

Jace snorted but said nothing as he sauntered over to Clary's couch and settled himself gingerly upon it. Without asking, he stretched across it, situating his head so it laid in her lap.

She rolled her eyes, but smiled. She ran her fingers through her hair.

"I'm glad I don't have to do this alone," she said softly, marveling at how his hair resembled soft, spun gold. "I'm glad I have you by my side. Even if you did try to kill my ex-boyfriend."

Jace growled low in his throat. "Your ex-boyfriend tried to kill me first."

"Semantics."

Jace was silent, and for a moment, she thought he'd started to drift off to sleep. But then he wrapped his fingers around her wrist. "I'm glad I have you by my side as well, Clary."

Then he _did _fall asleep.

* * *

Jocelyn buried her head in her hands. "We can't just bury them in a hole, Celine. Clary and Jace…They're both too fiery, too restless. They'll destroy that hole and then they'll destroy each other."

Stephen nodded in agreement. "Jace is a fighter. He's restless, even with that injury—you saw him. You saw how he jumped up without even a thought of self-preservation. If we just lock them somewhere, he'll find a way to break out and things will end up worse than if we just tried to train him to fight."

Jia's eyebrows rose up to her hairline. "You want…you want the future king and queen of Idris to _fight_? To go to _battle_?"

"No," Jocelyn replied softly. "No, we don't _want _them to. They're our _children,_ Jia. We didn't want them involved in any of this in the first place. Why do you think we faked their deaths?"

Jia's lips thinned.

Luke said, more gently, "We know that they have to do this. They know that they have to do this. But their personalities—they're going to want to be on the frontlines, and they'll find their way there, whether we train them or not. I wouldn't put it past Clary and Jace to help each other sneak out and try and disguise themselves so they can help with the fighting. Just so they don't have to be cooped up in a room."

Jia raised an eyebrow. "They're that reckless?"

"This isn't the first time Jace has gotten into a fight with Sebastian," Stephen reminded her.

Jia's lips thinned even further and she delicately folded her hands atop the table. "So, you propose that we train them to fight? We give them places on the battlefield? Put them at risk?"

"At least train them to defend themselves," Jocelyn said softly. "They're more powerful than either of them realizes—than even we might realize. You know they're special. You know they were each born just a little bit more differently than most Shadowhunters."

Jia threw her hands up. "It seems I am outnumbered. So. In the days we spend trying to gather the Shadowhunters to us across the world…in the days we spend sending Mortmain messages to try and get him to leave the country willingly…we will also spend those days training Jace and Clary to be full Shadowhunters, as they had the right to the moment they were born."

* * *

The werewolf child whimpered at the foot of Mortmain's throne.

The clever human lounged on it, ignoring the way it dug into his back as he watched the werewolf writhe in pain before him. "I have no pity for you," he said coolly. "You let them see you. You let them know we knew about them."

He flicked his finger and a vampire emerged from the shadows of the Great Hall. The vampire hissed with delight as he dug the toe of his boot into the werewolf's ribs.

"Simpering son of a—"

"Language," Mortmain interrupted, holding up a hand. "I'll not have such vulgarity in my court."

The wolvish idiot had been sent to spy on the Herondales and the Fairchilds. Not to be spied upon. And when the wolf had jittered into the Great Hall and bore the news that the Consul of the Shadowhunters had hired Magnus Bane to whisk them all away to some secret, unknown place, Mortmain had immediately sentenced him to death.

It was going to be a long, slow death. A slow death, for how slowly the kidnapping and defeat of the Shadowhunters was going to go from now on.

A movement stirred in the shadows—not the vampire.

Mortmain sighed and stood from his throne. That was the one good thing that had come of all of this.

Sebastian Verlac stepped out of the shadows.

Mortmain snapped his fingers at the vampire. "Drain him," hesaid, and stepped down the dais to meet his protégé and spy.

* * *

**_I hope you liked it! If you guys are curious to read/review The Heir, it's on both FictionPress and Wattpad, written by Susanna De La Pena! Again, THANK YOU ALL!_**


	13. Time to Prove

_**AN: Hi! I realize I said bi-weekly, when I meant semi-weekly. I am so sorry for that. But I love you all and I hope you enjoy this chapter.**_

* * *

Sebastian bowed his head before Mortmain. "I've failed you, Master. I'm deeply sorry."

Mortmain cocked his head affectionately to the side and lifted Sebastian's chin. "You did not fail me at all. You've greatly assisted my cause, and sacrificed much to do so."

Sebastian stood up straight and said nothing, his black eyes devoid of emotion.

"You will have your revenge soon."

Sebastian's jaw clenched. "He has her."

Mortmain nodded and gestured toward the hallway. "I am aware."

Sebastian frowned, but began to walk down the hallway, Mortmain closing the door and quickly catching up with his protégé. "She's my sister. She's mine."

"I fully agree," Mortmain said, though he had to physically swallow his nausea. "You've had her before. You'll have her again."

"My father has gone missing again as well. I want him back, so I can kill him for what he took from me."

"Patience, Jonathan Morgenstern," Mortmain said, gesturing to a small door set into an alcove of the hall. "You will have all the revenge you desire."

* * *

Clary yelped in pain as her knuckles slammed into the punching bag, Jace laughing in response. She wrung her hand out and frowned. "It's not funny."

"It is, actually," he said, walking back up to the bag and holding it steady. "You aren't punching it right."

Clary glared at him. "Oh, and you've had so many lessons in punching."

"Yeah," Jace said, nodding. His golden hair stuck to the nape of his neck with sweat. "I actually have. It's called fighting with other boys. And girls, sometimes."

Clary raised her eyebrows.

Jace shrugged. "Hey, if a girl wants to do something a little kinkier during sex, who am I to deny her?"

Clary rolled her eyes.

"I've also had girls pick fights with me, so that's fun."

Clary ignored him and shifted her feet into an attack stance, just as their trainer had taught her three hours ago.

"You're hitting with the knuckles of your ring and pinky fingers. Also, your thumb is on the inside of your fist, and frankly, it's a miracle you haven't broken it yet," Jace said, spreading his feet apart. "Hit with the knuckles of your index and middle fingers and keep your thumb on the outside."

Clary bit her lip and pulled her fist back.

"Follow through with your entire body," he said as she narrowed her eyes and furrowed her brow in concentration. "Punch with your core. Your arm is just an instrument."

Despite her best efforts, the only thing she was able to do was further bruise her knuckles.

Clary sucked on her knuckles. "Forget it. My hands were crafted to create, not to destroy."

Jace shrugged and let go of the bag, unwrapping his own hands and neatly folding the tape into his pocket. "Every hand was made to destroy. You just have to find your own method of it."

"That's a beautiful sentiment, Jace," Clary said wryly.

Jace threw a sweaty arm over her shoulders, grinning as she made a noise of disgust and tried to pull away from him. "I know. I'm quite a poetic being."

They emerged from the basement, Clary trying to breathe from her mouth, Jace still laughing at her, to find a tall, thin boy with black hair and bright blue eyes waiting for them.

Clary only frowned, but Jace…

Jace stopped in his tracks, mid laugh.

The boy jumped up from the couch he was sitting on, shoving his hands in his pockets.

"Alec? What—how did you get here?"

The boy—Alec, Clary realized—shrugged. "My dad is involved with your protection detail. I just asked to be let in…They said you were training…"

"We were," Jace said, taking the tape back out of his pocket and beckoning Clary to a couch in the living room. "This is Clary, by the way."

Alec glanced at Clary as if he'd just noticed that she was standing there. "Right. Hi."

Clary raised her brows, but didn't comment, sitting on the couch next to Jace. "Hi."

"Alec was my adoptive brother when I ran away," Jace explained, pulling the tape out of his pocket and reaching for one of her hands. "He also happens to be my best friend."

"That you haven't really talked to in years," Alec reminded him tightly.

Jace didn't look up from Clary's hand. "Right. But that's all behind us now."

Alec looked upset—like he wanted to protest, but he only sank into the couch opposite of them.

Jace wrapped Clary's bruises and cuts more gently than she thought was possible, though the amount of focus he had with them was making her uncomfortable.

Uncomfortable because Alec was watching them as if he wanted to slug her for it.

Jace noticed it, though a little belatedly, and only after he'd held Clary's hand and stared at it as though it were telling him all of her deepest darkest secrets and desires.

Alec looked angry.

Clary stood up and brushed her pants off. "Well, I feel disgusting. I'll let you two catch up while I take a shower." She turned to Alec. "Nice to meet you."

Alec gave her a tight lipped nod as she pivoted and ran up the stairs to the bathroom.

"What the hell was that?"

Pain lanced through Alec's chest as he remembered how Jace had looked at Clary's hand. As though he was in love with it. As though he'd wanted to…to kiss it.

"Once a week," Alec hissed, glaring at Jace. "You promised you would visit us once a week. It's been two months."

Jace's golden eyes flared with anger. "Oh, I apologize for Sebastian stabbing me and then being forced to flee because I was being hunted."

"You have our phone numbers now," Alec seethed. "You could have texted us."

"No phones," Jace replied hotly. "Phones can be tracked."

"I thought you didn't like her." Alec jerked his chin to the stairwell. "Last I saw you, you were pretty pissed about the whole arranged marriage, but after watching you practically drool over her hand, I'm starting to think maybe that was a lie."

"Feelings change."

"Not that quickly."

"Her ex-boyfriend stabbed me and instead of defending him like most loyal girlfriends would, she defended me and helped get me to the hospital. And has stayed by my side since then."

Alec pursed his lips. "They call that the Florence Nightingale Effect. It's a mental disease."

Jace scowled. "Call it what you want, I don't care. We have to marry each other anyway. Liking each other is helping, not hurting."

Alec's scowl only deepened.

"Did you just come here to give me crap? Because the last month or so has already been at a pretty low level and I don't really need you to make me feel worse."

"I wish." Alec stood from the couch, ignoring the incredulity on Jace's face. "I actually came because apparently Izzy, Max and I are all moving here to train with you and Her Highness."

Jace said nothing.

"Looks like we'll all be roommates." Alec's smile was sour as he turned to go up the stairs.

Jace stood up. "Alec…"

Alec turned around, eyebrows raised.

"Just…try, ok? She's been through a lot."

Alec grimaced. "We all have."

* * *

_**Also! For those of you who read The Heir (on both Wattpad and FictionPress under the name Susanna De La Pena) the fourth chapter is up! Thank you SO much for all your support!**_


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